Synthesis (old)
by ArcturusWolf
Summary: Evolution. It is the one thing that drives all things forward. While the Muggle world continues to evolve, the magical world stagnates in its firm belief that magical superiority trumps all else. When a magical child is created with the aid of science by an estranged Black and a Muggle scientist, what will it mean for magical society? Discontinued; being rewritten.
1. 01 - The Gift of Life

For those at the forefront of discovery, it was known that often one had to disregard his or her morals for the greater good. Wealth. Friendship. Family. These were meaningless foibles, only serving as distractions. Excess wealth beyond the necessities of life did not bring about results; friends only served to bring chaos in an otherwise immaculately ordered life. And family? The bickering of relatives not concerning oneself was not even worth listening to, let alone intervening in.

For Amanda Flynn, these thoughts had served her well for years. Her brothers and sisters were dull, preferring to engage in fickle activities such as sports and music to occupy their days and evenings. She preferred to read and ponder about how things worked. She remembered well the day that her eldest brother purchased a car, a simple four-door sedan; while the others were marvelling at the comfortable seats and the ample baggage space, she spent more of her time looking at what was under the hood and wondering how it worked. They poked fun at her for weeks after that, thinking that she was strange for being fascinated by gears and metal.

Strange. It was an appropriate enough word to describe her, she supposed. But the opinions of others did not matter to her. What did matter was power; and what better power was there than knowledge?

Combustion engines were interesting enough to look at, to dismantle and examine. So were most of the other moving parts that worked. But as she pondered more about the workings of machines, she found herself staring at her hand after a while. Closing and opening it, turning it around, and experimentally prodding at the skin, amazed at how flexible yet tough it was. It was at that point that inspiration struck her, that would set the course for her future.

Machines were powerful. Machines were complex. Machines of metal and plastic were everywhere, and yet even they could not satisfy her curiosity.

She needed more. She needed to look at the greatest and most complex machinery known to mankind. The machinery of the living body, comprised of trillions of minute cells working in harmony. How it functioned, she did not know; but she knew that at one point, she needed to find out. If simple machines could be so useful, who knew how powerful such a complex machine could be, brought to perfection?

And fifteen years later, her ambition and drive bore fruit. Amanda Flynn, a researcher in molecular biology, found her calling. Working on a skunkworks project with an up-and-coming pharmaceutical company to discover the secrets of the human genome, she found herself in her element. The stern red-haired woman found herself striding down sterile white laboratories, supervising experiments that were being conducted. The experiments were proceeding well enough, she supposed; observations came as fast as they could be processed, and groundbreaking results published to the company archives at regular intervals.

But it was not fast enough for her. What was the point of observing something already present, if they were not going to improve it? The genome was being mapped at an incredible rate with the amount of funding being channelled into it, but that was all they had done for at least a few years. Mapping. Mapping. And more mapping. Categorically noting down what everything did, what alterations would accomplish, and what problems may arise from the presence or absence of a particular genetic pattern. And it irked her greatly that such knowledge was being treated as purely knowledge, and not wielded for power.

The power to create was in her hands. And she would be damned if she allowed the knowledge to simply gather dust in some old library. No, she needed to do something with it.

To forge the greatest machine of all. To enhance a human body, from an existing template.

It proved immensely difficult to find a suitable donor. Every other scientist that she had spoken to had balked, citing foolish reasons like morals or religion. Finally, in frustration, she decided that if nobody was willing to assist her on this line of research, she would do so herself. After all, she only needed a few cells, and not a limb or two. Cells that she would no longer need, given ten years or so.

Under the guise of a larger experiment, Amanda diverted significant funds from their research funds to the creation of a set of prototype artificial wombs, in which she placed heavily-modified embryos. Embryos created from herself and a male donor, one of her junior researchers with a curiously intense interest in the project – and likely the only man that had any interest in it. She projected that the result would be stronger than most other humans; equipped with denser skeletal structure and denser muscle structure, and having already-identified disease-causing genetic material scrubbed.

On examining the embryo's genes, however, she found a strange sequence that had not been identified before on one particular female foetus; but dismissing this as variation brought about from her donor's own genetics, she paid it no mind.

With Amanda's attention solely focused on the development of her 'children', the rest of the laboratory began to fall into chaos. Research proceeded without direction or vision, with neither tangible results nor theories to show. What results that she could publish were rejected by her peers, who decried her experiments as completely overstepping the bounds of what was ethical, and called for her removal from the company.

With great opposition facing her, she was faced with the choice of having the project's funding completely cut off and her efforts redirected, a mere four weeks before the embryos would be considered matured – or having it forcibly terminated, and her position be taken by another scientist. The first option would have been acceptable, given the fact that she could simply retry in the future once her opposition had quieted down again. Yet she found herself unable to sign the paper that would state that she would terminate her experiment.

No. Her children. She looked at the six glass pods in front of her, all hooked up to an iron lung and a tank of nutrient fluid. For once in her life, she felt a strange feeling well up in her heart. It was crushing. Cold. Chilling. But what had to be done, had to be done. With a shaky hand, she finally put a blot of ink on the paper and signed it, handing it to the secretary that was hovering over her shoulder. The secretary immediately collected it and flounced off, leaving the mad scientist to her own devices.

The experiment was over. It was terminated. With a heavy sigh, she walked up to the tubes and switched off the power, one by one. Fluid drained from the pods, their pumps no longer refreshing their contents, and she turned away, unable to bear watching her work of six months be destroyed.

Her life's ambition, extinguished.

"I hope that you are satisfied," she hissed spitefully at nobody in particular. Only the faint hum of the research facility's climate control answered back.

And then came a plaintive cry from behind her. Muffled. Soft. Weak. But definitely there.

Amanda spun around. There was a single pod on the far right side that contained a single baby girl. A girl that was still breathing and crying, no longer suspended by the pod's fluid. She clambered awkwardly onto the pod, trying to access the emergency release on top of it; she slipped and fell with a cry, landing with a loud thump on the concrete floor.

"Amanda?" asked a concerned researcher from the hallway just outside her lab, "What's happened to you? Slipped on a soap bar again?"

"Very funny, Smith," she grumbled, picking herself up again, "Just go, and lock the door behind you,"

"Whatever you say, boss,"

After that, she heard the laboratory door slam closed. The baby in front of her was still crying, but it was steadily growing weaker. Its face was growing bluer with every passing moment. Then, inexplicably, the pod's glass began to crack from within; eyes widening, she reflexively raised her arms to shield her face.

And not a moment too soon. Glass shards sprayed in all directions, pelting her and everything else in the room with countless sharp bits of glass. _That was impossible_ , she thought to herself. The glass was rated to resist immense pressures, and there was nothing inside that could have caused such an explosion. That, and the baby was still inside the pod, now sleeping soundly as though nothing had ever happened. Oddly enough, her laboratory coat seemed to have somehow escaped any damage whatsoever. Though the researcher in her realised that this was something that was definitely _not_ normal, Amanda was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She needed to take care of the still-alive baby.

Carefully avoiding the bits of glass on the floor, Amanda walked over to the sink in the corner and picked up a towel and shaking it out. She grunted as she hefted the baby up from the pod, struggling to wrap it in the towel. Surely the child had to weigh more than twelve pounds, she thought to herself.

Then a thought struck her.

The company was trying to shut down her line of research, as it was producing no results at great cost. And yet, in her arms, was the result of that experiment. A genetically-modified girl, who seemed to be far heavier than the average newborn; even more when one considered that she was a few weeks early. There was the usual baby fat, to be sure – but no human body was denser than water.

Her experiment had succeeded. This girl – her child – was the result of it. Her mouth opened in a silent snarl as she recalled that the company had shut down her research before it could come to full fruition. The other five would likely have been successes as well, had they been allowed to grow to term.

They had no faith in her, or her experiment, even after all the months of successes that she had brought before. They did not deserve a result, even if they were looking for one. Glancing over her shoulders, she looked somewhat relieved that whatever had happened with the pod had also smashed the surveillance cameras in the corner. They would be none the wiser if she hid her child and moved it away.

Knowledge was power. And what they didn't know, they couldn't have. Spotting a cardboard box that was used to transport papers, she knew she had a way to smuggle the baby out.

* * *

"Are you sure, Amanda? You're resigning?"

"I am positive, Director Ashwood. There is no place for me here," the red-haired woman spoke crisply, crossing her legs. "No longer, at least. My colleagues do not trust in my suggestions, and often it seems that my research is on topics that will serve no benefit in the future. I do not wish my time to be wasted,"

Director Ashwood, a portly middle-aged man wearing a suit several sizes too small for his growing belly, groaned and cupped his face with his hands. "Your work in the past has been exemplary, barring the one debacle that we are both too well aware of. Are you certain there is nothing more that we can offer you that may change your mind? Perhaps a change of research topics, if that's something that's causing trouble?"

"That would be nice, but my mind is set. I also have...personal issues to attend to that I cannot while working,"

The director pursed his lips and hummed a little, before shaking his head. "Then it looks like we both don't have any more to discuss. Goodbye, Miss Flynn. It has been...interesting working with you,"

"Yes, interesting indeed. However, I doubt that we shall see each other again. Goodbye, Director,"

With that, she swept out of the director's office, closing the door behind her. She sighed and reached into her lab coat's pockets, trying to fish out her wallet to check if she had enough to hire a taxi home; but before she could do so, a hand quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Black. I suppose that you have a reason for manhandling me?" she sighed, knowing that only one person among her staff would dare do something like that. Her colleague, Phineas Black – the one that had donated his genetic material for the experiment, and one of the few that would actually talk to her about things that piqued her interest.

"Yes. I do," he spoke, with a little more urgency than the laid-back man normally did. "Look. I...might have overheard part of your discussion with Director Ashwood. Come with me, and I'll take you home,"

"And why would you offer to do something like that? Or better yet, why would I accept?"

He grimaced. "Amanda, you know that you aren't exactly...the easiest woman to work with. There's a lot of people out here that don't like you,"

"How flattering, but I was already aware of that. The opinions of others don't really matter to me,"

"Well, I hope that's going to change when someone has something _positive_ to say to you, for a change. Even though you drive us to work hard, and demand results all the time, you get results when you put your mind to something. You want us to learn while working, to become better at what we do,"

She fell silent. That had to be the first time a colleague – and not a superior – actually praised her for what she did. She didn't know how to respond to that. She felt her face heat up uncomfortably for no reason, but she was certain that she did not have a fever. Was it even possible to get a fever instantaneously?

"Wow. The Ice Queen is actually blushing?" chuckled Phineas, who just barely dodged a slap that was thrown his way immediately after he said that. "Okay, okay. Sorry! It just slipped into my mind. Anyway, I just wanted to...oh, never mind. Let's get into my car before the evening traffic gets any worse. You'd spend a fortune on a taxi getting home around this time. Where's your house, anyway?"

"Since you're offering to drive me, I suppose you'll need to know. Number three, Privet Drive. Little Whinging in Surrey,"

A strangely brief car ride later, and Amanda found herself at her house in Little Whinging. There were several irregularities that she thought she saw, but couldn't pin down. She swore that at some point, Phineas had driven through a set of hedges and a traffic barrier, but the car was none the worse for wear; and even she doubted what she had seen herself, considering that more than a few cars seemed to have _jumped_ out of the way of Phineas' car. Perhaps she was more exhausted than she thought, and she was starting to see things that weren't real. Regardless, when she stepped out of the car and breathed in the faintly perfumed air of her neighbourhood, she knew that she was home for real. Before sundown, no less.

"Well. That must be the quickest trip home that I have experienced," she said. Turning around, she found Phineas also out of the car, looking around at the neighbourhood.

"I must say, this neighbourhood looks rather fancy,"

"There are certain perks to being a senior researcher, I suppose," Amanda replied, shrugging, "Still, I should check on Cordelia. She must be hungry by now; her caretaker should have left at least an hour ago. Still, thank you for driving me home, Mr. Black. I hope that we speak again someday,"

"Aww, no invitation to come again?" he teased, earning a glare from Amanda, "Okay, okay! Just kidding!"

* * *

The year was 1991.

It had been ten years since Amanda had acquired little Cordelia. The pharmaceutical research facility that she had worked at had been entirely destroyed in a fire that she thought was rather suspicious a few weeks after she had left. No accelerant, no explosives, and it had apparently started in the rather innocuous centre wing of the facility, which was where they had most of their cryogenic storage units. Whatever its cause, she was glad to have heard that her old laboratory had been thoroughly incinerated in the blaze, with nothing left inside. After all, those that only sought knowledge without using it were as useless as those that were ignorant.

"Cordelia," she called out to her daughter, who was cautiously walking down the reinforced metal staircase of her house, "Fetch the mail while I make us both breakfast,"

"Going, mum," Cordelia groaned, shaking the stairs with her footsteps. Amanda suppressed some laughter as she popped several pieces of bacon on the pan. It never ceased to amaze her how her child had grown, from a tiny little (but heavy) baby to a tall and willowy (but heavier still) girl. For a ten-year-old girl, she was almost five feet tall – and weighed nearly a hundred and seventy pounds. Something that had caused the school nurse to call her in confusion, especially when the girl in question was most certainly not overweight.

Moments later, she could hear the front door open and close, and Cordelia came to the kitchen table with a stack of letters. Well, a stack of letters and a single leather pouch, stamped with a wax seal; three ravens and a sword, with a skull above it.

"It is that time of year again, is it?" sighed Amanda. Picking up the bag, she opened it up and looked inside, to find a sizeable hoard of gold coins and a thick bundle of normal cash. She set it down on the table, careful to not spill any of it.

No names, no address, only that wax seal on the neck of the bag. She didn't know who was sending them every year. The first time this had happened, the very confused police at the nearby police station said that no money of that amount had been reported missing. Nor did they recognise the symbol on the wax seal. A trip to the library to look at the register of ancient noble houses' seals and arms bore no fruit; and after two weeks of waiting without anybody claiming it, she supposed it was hers. And the arrangement had continued without stopping since the first year she raised Cordelia.

"Very well. Have your breakfast, dear, before the bacon and toast goes cold. I will look through these letters,"

Cordelia nodded and sat down at her usual seat, wolfing down the bacon and toast as though she had not eaten in weeks. "Cordelia," warned Amanda, peering over the letters to find her daughter looking guiltily at her with a piece of bacon half dangling from her mouth, "Try to chew. Do not forget to breathe. And lastly, take your time. The food will not escape while you are not looking,"

"Sowwy mum," she mumbled through the mouthful of food, swallowing down the bacon. "I was starving,"

"That still does not excuse your lack of manners, young lady. More bacon?"

"Yes!"

"What do you say when you wish to have something?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Please, mother, may I have seconds?"

"That is better. And of course you may, child," her mother replied, tipping another lot of bacon onto her daughter's plate. In a blink of an eye, her plate was spotless once more. "No. No more bacon for this morning, Cordelia. You may have some cheese and salad instead,"

She recoiled at the mention of cheese and salad. "I think I'll pass,"

Suppressing a snort, Amanda began to look through her letters. "Very well. Then you must wash your plate before you go,"

Over the soft clinking of soapy utensils against porcelain, her daughter started to speak. "Um...mum?" Cordelia asked hesitantly, "Do you know where our neighbours went? The one with...that boy? The one with the messy black hair who seems to be always trimming hedges and cutting lawns?"

"Number Four?" Amanda queried, raising her eyes from her letters, "No. I cannot say that I have, for at least two days. Why?"

"When they left, they looked like they left in a hurry, and I don't think I've seen their car come back. I wonder if something happened to them?"

"It is possible, but if there had been something that happened, the police would have come,"

Cordelia replied with a grunt, setting down the now-clean dishes on a drying rack. "Alright. So...uh, should I be-"

"Studying? Yes, young lady, you will be studying. Finish the chapters that I have set, and you may do as you please,"

"Alright, mum," she whined half-heartedly and walking towards the study room in the back.

As Amanda continued to look at the mail she had received, she noticed that the last one felt heavier than the others. Heavier and thicker – and smelled somewhat musty. Curious, she gently pried open the envelope with her fingers. Inside was a letter in honest-to-God parchment, written in what looked like quill and ink.

* * *

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorc.; Chf. Warlock; Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Miss Flynn,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

"Well. That was...unique," Amanda commented, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

Looking into the envelope, there was indeed a list containing what looked like a list of equipment and books. If this was a hoax, it was a very elaborate one. She couldn't think of any stationery stores in London that actually stocked parchment and sold it for any less than an arm and a leg. Quills could have been plucked from a chicken, she supposed, and ink could have just come from disassembled pens. But the printed emblem on the head of the letter was far too ornate for a one-off prank; the same applied for the wax seal on the envelope. It was more than likely a genuine letter.

But Amanda's mind was well and truly conflicted. She was a practitioner of hard science. Measuring what was measurable, observing what was observable, and recording exactly how things worked. Magic, by all that she knew, did not – and could not – exist. 'Witchcraft and wizardry', indeed! She would not show this to her daughter, not yet. Not until she discovered the truth behind this letter.

A series of sharp raps on her front door caught her attention. It always irked her to no end when people seemed to not recognise that a doorbell was the more civilised way of getting the attention of whoever was inside the house. Standing up, she marched to the door and threw it open, expecting maybe a persistent salesman or travelling evangelist. Instead, she came face-to-face with-

"Phineas?"

* * *

A/N:

So I obtained the inspiration for this story after watching a re-run of a MythBusters episode on whether or not you could polish poop till it shines.

Magical pureblood supremacists always held that blood purity was everything that a great wizard needs (excluding the fact that excessive inbreeding would cause amazing amounts of genetic abnormalities to pop up, but let's leave the Targaryens to see that, shall we?), but what if a muggleborn was 'polished' and then brought into the magical world? Would a 'polished' muggleborn be better than a pureblood? Or even a normal muggleborn? We will simply have to see, won't we?

Also another note for those with keen scientific or technological backgrounds, I am well aware that the technology of 1980s earth is likely not sufficient to perform a full genome mapping, let alone modifying it. The project itself was conceived in 1984 by the US Government, but was not actually completed until 2003. Considering that a single hard disk was only tens of megabytes in size at the time (and the platters were literally the size of dinner plates), one could only wonder just how much storage was needed to store a human genome consisting of 3.3 billion base pairs of DNA. For the purposes of this story, let's just say that technology is more advanced than would be expected of that period.

Questions? Comments? Feel free to review. Thanks for reading!

-ArcturusWolf


	2. 02 - Observing the Unobservable

Phineas was giddy. It had been ten years since he had last seen Amanda, or his daughter. Ten years since he had been working odd jobs in order to provide for both himself, his daughter, and his daughter's mother. Oh, how much would it have been easier to have provided for all of them if he had not been disinherited for defending those who were born outside of his society. But his savings from a lifetime of performing work were not so meagre as to leave him unable to care for and pay for his daughter's tuition. He would bring even more shame to his family name, if he had sired a child without means of providing for him or her!

Still, he found himself out of breath as he walked up the driveway to Number Three, Privet Drive. Today was the day that Hogwarts acceptance letters were being given out, he was certain of it. Looking down at his wrinkled hands, he quickly applied a glamour over himself. It would not do to shock his partner with the appearance of a wizened old man, especially when she was only familiar with his previous appearance from ten years ago: that of a sprightly young research assistant with stars in his eyes, and far too much energy for his own good.

Was it even right to call her a partner? He wasn't sure any more. After all, both of them weren't exactly involved in that particular way.

"Alright. Now I'm ready," he said, watching the glamour take hold and his skin visibly smooth out. He approached the door and rapped five times quickly. The loud footsteps of someone irritably marching to the door caused him to smirk. Even after all these years, Amanda Flynn was still annoyed by even the smallest things.

The door flew open, and he came face to face with her. The woman had aged somewhat; her previously auburn hair had the beginnings of grey strands working its way in, and she had put on a little weight around her previously lanky frame. The beginnings of wrinkles in the corners of her eyes also began to show, likely a product of late nights, much stress and too little sleep. Too little sleep being the primary suspect, hinted at by her somewhat dishevelled hair and oversized bathrobe. Still, she wasn't an unpleasant sight by any stretch of imagination. Especially not for someone as wrinkled and ancient as he was, without the glamour.

"Phineas?" she said incredulously, her eyes widening as she recognised him. "Why are you here, so early in the morning?"

"Something that I will tell you about, once you let me in," he said, giving her the best of the famous Black roguish smile. Which, apparently, had the opposite effect than he had intended, as she rolled her eyes. At least, however, she waved him in. "That's all? A wave? Oh, I'm so hurt,"

"I haven't seen you for ten years, Phineas. Ten years! And you have arrived early on a Saturday morning without an invitation, or even so much as a notice,"

"Well, I suppose you could say I've been busy," he replied, walking into the house. The interior could only be described as cold and sterile, fitting of the woman that owned the house. The walls were a plain white, decorated by images of what looked like various creatures put under microscopes; the kitchen had spotless stainless steel wherever it could be applied, and bone-white porcelain where it could not. The only splashes of colour in it were the glossy black refrigerator and stove, if one could even consider black a real colour. "Well, isn't this a cheerful house,"

"A well-kept laboratory is one that is kept clear as much as possible. I would think the same applies to houses," she replied with the barest hint of a shrug. "Have a seat. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"I won't say no to a hot breakfast. Cold sandwiches aren't exactly appetising," replied Phineas with a smile, sitting himself at a barstool in the kitchen. Amanda suppressed an urge to shudder and walked over to the refrigerator, pulling out a box of eggs and a pack of bacon.

"Oh, don't we know that, Black. All those early mornings back in the day," she chuckled, "Well, we will have to rectify that, won't we? Conversing on an empty stomach is not particularly pleasant, after all,"

"Mum, did you just say breakfast?"

Phineas turned around to look in the direction of where the hopeful voice had come from. He found the source immediately. There was a somewhat tall ten-year-old girl in one of the doorways beyond the kitchen, her bright jade-green eyes hopefully peering into the kitchen. Her fair, heart-shaped face was framed by a mane of tousled light copper hair, which fell in sheets down to her mid-back. A pencil was nestled behind her ear, which brought a soft chuckle to his lips. Her mother did the exact same thing almost every day in the labs, and that appeared to have been passed on to her daughter.

When she caught his gaze, however, her expression shifted to that of confusion. "Mum, I didn't know we had visitors today. Who's this?"

"Manners, young lady. Sit yourself down and introduce yourself properly," Amanda said sharply, causing the girl to flinch. She scooted quickly over to sit next to Phineas, who noticed that the girl was carrying a stack of books in her hands.

Books on basic sciences and mathematics.

"Huh. This doesn't look like something that a young girl would normally read," he mused, picking up one of the books and flipping through it.

"Oh. Mum makes me study before she lets me play,"

Phineas grinned in return. "Does she, now? That sounds exactly like what she would do,"

"Hush, Phineas. Cordelia, you still haven't introduced yourself to him,"

"There's no need for that. Cordelia. I already know you. If anything, I should be introducing myself. I'm Phineas Black, your mother's research assistant from ten years back,"

"Oh,"

"And your genetic donor," finished Amanda curtly, who popped a fried egg and several strips of crispy bacon on a plate. Noticing Cordelia's blank expression, Amanda added, "He's...your father,"

"He's...my dad?" mouthed Cordelia, who was eyeing him suspiciously. "But how come I haven't seen him around before?"

"It's a long story," Phineas replied. He gratefully accepted the food that Amanda offered, and began to dig in; but he noticed that Cordelia was pouting as she watched him eat over the top of the book she was reading.

"You aren't starving her, are you, Amanda?" asked Phineas curiously, smirking as Cordelia gave a startled 'eep!' and turned her eyes back to the book in front of her. Frowning, Amanda sighed and cradled her forehead.

"No. She has already had two servings of breakfast this morning. Two! And would have had a third if she would even touch salad and cheese. Simply put, she devours food like some breathe air,"

"Well. It's a good thing that the money I sent every year has been put to good use, then,"

Amanda stared at him incredulously. She pulled the stack of letters that were sitting on the kitchen counter, picking up the leather bag of gold coins and cash that were on it and turned it so that the wax seal on the bag was facing him. "That was you?" she asked. When he nodded, she shook her head and mouthed, "Why?"

"Well, you know, it's not right for me to just leave Cordelia with you and let you take the whole burden of raising a girl. I had to help,"

"While I'm very grateful for the financial support, Phineas, that still does not explain some things," Amanda muttered, circling her fingers around the wax seal on the leather bag. "Specifically, on this. These wax seals are something that belong to old noble houses, and you do not look like someone that cares too much for history to keep a seal around. Not to mention that I could not find this particular design in the register of arms and heraldry,"

"Not like you would ever find it, Amanda. Not in a local library," he replied cryptically, giving her a cheeky grin that he knew drove her mad. "I take it that you have also received a letter this year from...Hogwarts?"

Amanda gave no answer, though her lips were drawn so tightly it was almost just a line.

"Hogwarts? What's that, mother?" Cordelia asked, her interest piqued.

"It means," he chuckled, "You're a witch, Cordelia,"

Had he a camera, he would have taken a photograph of Amanda's priceless expression at that very moment. It would have made for an amusing point of conversation for many years to come. And so he began on a tale of what magic was. Embellished by his numerous exploits during his time in Hogwarts, of course.

* * *

"That is preposterous!" Amanda growled in frustration, running her fingers through her hair, "So you intend to tell me that my daughter – _our_ daughter – is capable of some sort of...occult practitioner?"

"Yes," Phineas replied calmly, stealing a glance at his daughter. She was now running her fingers on a Galleon that she had fished out of the bag, tracing the design on its face.

"You do realise even the concept of psychokinesis has been roundly disproven by the best of our scientists, correct? There are hundreds, if not thousands, of papers that have disputed otherwise, and not a single one has had any repeatable, reliable results. Transmutation? Perhaps in a nuclear reactor, but not by some...hocus pocus,"

"Yes, that would be correct...by non-magical standards,"

"Not to mention that the other...spells...that you suggest would break every law of physics that we have studied so far. Conjuring flames from nothing? Neither energy nor matter are created, Phineas. That is a law of physics that has stood for decades. The concept of magic is ludicrous,"

His response was only to chuckle. Both in amusement, seeing his partner's ridiculously strict adherence to the tenets of Muggle sciences, and to aggravate her for further amusement. Which worked wonders, as her face flushed a bright scarlet in fury. There was nothing better to reduce her to an incoherent mess than disputing facts that she _knew_ were correct.

Taking a deep breath, Amanda attempted to calm herself down. "If you insist that Cordelia needs to go to this...Hogwarts...I need proof that this is not just some...some elaborate hoax. I need proof, Phineas. Solid, reliable proof. Something that I can observe,"

"Now that I can help with," Phineas replied, a sly grin creeping on his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand; a gnarled, weathered thing with a crooked tip. " _Lumos,_ "

And a bright cone of light erupted from the tip of his wand, shining like the brightest torch that she had ever seen. Cordelia, who had been rather quiet ever since her mother started to rant, gave off a small gasp of surprise and scooted over to Phineas' side. She waved her hand over the wand, staring delightedly at the shadow that was cast on the wall in front of the wand.

"Is that enough proof, Amanda?" the wizard said, barely stifling a laugh. Amanda, for once, was completely and utterly gobsmacked, unable to form even a single coherent word. Eventually, she deflated, nodding resignedly.

"Fine. I take back what I have said about magic being...impossible,"

"Excellent! Then if that's all, I'd like to invite both of you to come with me to purchase all the things that she'll need for her school year,"

Amanda looked at her daughter. There was a certain gleam in her eyes that she had not seen before; a spark of excitement, glowing brightly in her jade green eyes. She then looked at the books on the table that lay forgotten in the wake of the news that Cordelia was a witch. She was bright, that was for certain; but Amanda knew all too well that to try and steer one too far away from one's passion, it was likely to extinguish that spark, and dull the brilliance of one's mind. Cordelia was fond of reading, but studying the sciences? It was something that she forced herself to do, in order to please her mother.

Perhaps, Amanda thought, perhaps her child was not destined to follow in her footsteps after all. Perhaps she was destined to find something greater in a world that they had never observed. Perhaps there was something else out there for her.

"Very well," Amanda said, nodding to her daughter. "Cordelia, have a shower and get dressed. I shall do so in a few minutes,"

* * *

Charing Cross Road. Amanda found herself rather surprised that the entrance to something so well-hidden from the world at large was located on such a busy street. Not to mention that she looked rather overdressed for such a visit; she was wearing a black business suit and pants, complete with a stiffly-starched white shirt and a spotless red tie. Rather conspicuous, considering that the shops on either side of the supposed gateway to the magical world was a dingy bookstore and a dilapidated record store.

"Let's get this over with," grumbled Amanda, trying and failing to ignore the curious looks that she was receiving from passers-by. She utterly hated drawing attention to herself for no good reason; and judging by the way her daughter was shrinking behind Phineas, she had the same issues herself. Her partner was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, while her daughter was wearing a black silk sundress; and while one of them alone would be perfectly normal, seeing the three of them together appeared to be rather out of place for all the others around them. The mismatched trio walked towards a building between the bookstore and the record store; a building that was strangely called 'The Leaky Cauldron'.

A fitting name, she supposed, given all the urban legends about witches brewing their potions in cauldrons. As they stepped through the doorway, they noticed that there was a quickly-dispersing crowd in the back of the dimly-lit pub. A crowd that was made up of men and women wearing robes of all lengths and colours, and some even wearing curiously pointed hats.

Phineas walked towards the bartender. The ancient, wrinkled man bore a striking resemblance to a walnut; doubly so, if one were to ignore his toothless grin. "Tom," he greeted the man, offering his hand.

Tom looked once at Phineas and his face split open in a grin. "Phineas! I was wondering when – or if - you would ever be back again. The usual?"

"No drinks while on duty, Tom. I'm escorting a new Hogwarts student at this time,"

The bartender craned his neck to look over Phineas' shoulder. "A retired Auror, escorting a new student? Even Harry Potter didn't get this sort of treatment. What's the occasion, Phineas? You don't normally do something like this,"

"Well," Phineas said, rubbing the back of his head, "It's not so much a job or request, you see. Cordelia here-" he put a hand on the girl's shoulder, "-is my daughter, and she's now at that age when Hogwarts comes looking for her. In fact, I that letter just arrived today!"

"Well then, I'd better not hold you up," chuckled Tom, "I didn't know that you'd settled down with someone, Phineas. When did that happen, and why wasn't I invited? And...is that your wife?"

 _Wife? No, no, no, no!_ Amanda thought to herself, blushing furiously. That was _most definitely_ not the case!

"It's...complicated,"

"Heh. I know when to not pry, so I won't. Still, it's good to see you back. Did you know that Harry Potter has finally returned to the Wizarding World?"

Phineas' jaw dropped, while Cordelia shared a puzzled look with her mother. "The Boy-who-Lived? He's finally returned? After all these years? Where'd he go?"

The elderly bartender pointed them in the direction of where the crowd of witches and wizards were before. Amanda grimaced, recalling just how many of them had been there. Just what exactly did this 'Boy-who-Lived' do to warrant so many admirers? She would have to ask Phineas later.

"No idea, Phineas. He came in with Hagrid, that gamekeeper at Hogwarts. They were on official Hogwarts business, so they couldn't exactly stop and chat. A pity, actually. You just missed them, actually; they were in here a few minutes ago,"

"A shame. Oh well. It's good to see you still well, Tom. We'll have to share a story or two over a drink, next time we meet,"

"Yep. Well then, off you go. You still remember which brick to tap, right? Three up from the trashcan, and then two across,"

Phineas nodded, while Amanda was utterly mystified. Three up and two across? From a trashcan? Was this some sort of code for a button that they needed to press? Whatever the case, she found herself being led (or rather, dragged) by her daughter, who was excitedly following Phineas towards the back of the pub.

"Well, this is the entrance to Diagon Alley. London's one and only wizarding shopping district," he informed them. Amanda cast a skeptical glance around the small cobbled courtyard that was behind the pub. There was nothing here, aside from a plain brick wall and a couple of beat-up old trashcans. "Oh, don't give me that look. You just haven't seen what's behind it,"

And sure enough, she had not seen what was behind it. Or expected it, for that matter. The moment that Phineas tapped the ratty old brick that was three above and two across from the trashcan stuck to the wall, the brickwork seemed to fold in on itself. Warping from a small hole, and gradually widening to form a large archway that led into a broad cobblestone street. A street that was lined on either side by various shops, catering to the needs of the hundreds of magical patrons that walked up and down its worn and weathered stones.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Phineas laughed, amused by the stunned expressions on both Amanda's and Cordelia's faces.

* * *

A/N:

And there is the next part of the story! The moment when a scientist is faced with the irrefutable proof that there is a way of bending literally every law on the natural world must be truly mind-shattering for Amanda. Let's just hope that she has a crate full of aspirin to help with the migraines :P

Next chapter, Diagon Alley!

Qoheleth: Integument? I'm not sure what the hard outer layer of a plant seed has to do with blood purity :o But yes, the genetic inbreeding in the Wizarding population of Britain would have made the Habsburgs proud. I'm surprised that they haven't all squibbed out or gone infertile yet, considering that every pureblood must be related to some degree.

Also, well spotted on the contraction that shouldn't exist. Corrected! A cookie for you!

Dragon Man 180: Well, we'll have to see that, won't we? :P

Mayacompany: Yep, that's true. Since Phineas is a full-blood Black, having a child with a muggle would result in a half-blood. Corrected.


	3. 03 - Diagon Alley

"Incredible," Amanda breathed. She could scarcely believe that a place like this could have existed in London. Not to mention undetected by anyone!

"Well, let's not waste any time, then. You'll have to know this place inside and out if you want to raise a witch," said Phineas, "Normally, you'd have to go to Gringotts to withdraw some money to shop, but I'm fairly sure that I gave some wizarding money to you every year. You did bring it, right?"

The red-haired scientist nodded, pulling out a pouch from her pocket and taking out a single gold coin from inside. "So, the gold coins are known as Galleons. There are seventeen Sickles, the smaller silver coins, to a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts to a sickle. The Knuts are the tiny copper coins.

"They don't seem to be very...uh...useful divisions?" Cordelia said, tilting her head to one side. "Isn't it much easier to remember if everything's a multiple of ten?"

Phineas blinked once. "I like you, Cordelia," he chuckled, smiling widely, "What you've just said is true. It's actually much easier to keep track of Muggle money. Still, Galleons, Sickles and Knuts have been around for as long as anyone can remember, and I think everyone just got used to it. Anyway, it's probably easier to learn about it by actually buying things. First things first, let's get you a wand. Can't be a proper witch or wizard without one,"

"A wand. Is that the stick that you were using to generate light in my kitchen?"

"Yes, that would be it. But to call it a stick would be...improper, to say the least. Let's get to Ollivander's. The wandmaker could tell you more about them than I ever could,"

And so they strolled leisurely down the street. Cordelia looked around with wide-eyed wonder at everything that was around her; the sights, the sounds and the smells – they were anything unlike she had ever experienced before. The wizards and witches dressed in robes for the most part, so unlike the non-magical people that normally walked about London in suits, dresses or jeans and cotton shirts – or really, anything that could be thought of as _normal_ before she had come here; the giant pointed hats that she thought were only Halloween costume accessories were commonplace, among other things that she found odd.

The pet store – Magical Menagerie, she read the sign – sold things as normal as cats or dogs. But when she looked at the back, she had to hold back a terrified squeal at the sight of spiders as large as her hand, and warty toads that were bounding up to the glass display case at the storefront. Their bulbous eyes stared at her, and she felt a slight chill creep down her spine as she watched more and more of them approach.

"Cordelia, they're friendly. They're just toads, and they're harmless," Phineas said, noticing his daughter's discomfort. To prove a point, he tapped the glass display with his wand. The toad merely croaked twice and turned around, its curiosity waning. "See?"

The girl nodded slowly, still not entirely convinced. The spiders were worse, however. She couldn't imagine having a spider _near_ her, let alone having one as a pet! Getting their webs stuck in her hair was already bad enough; having one dangling in front of her face every time she needed to go to the toilet at night would be utterly dreadful. Shaking her head to rid herself of those dreadful thoughts, she jogged to catch up with her mother.

"I have never been one for following fashion, but surely that cannot be comfortable," Amanda said, looking at the thick woollen robes that were on display at Madam Malkin's, "Wearing that in the middle of summer? I would melt!"

"Says the person wearing a suit and pants," Phineas quipped, grinning when she glared back at him, "Amanda, cooling and warming charms are fairly easy for a witch to cast. It doesn't matter how thick the clothing is when you can just cool yourself when you're too hot, and warm yourself when you're too cold,"

"...And you did not cast one on me?" she huffed, loosening her shirt and suit slightly.

"It's not that hot, is it? But...oh. I guess we always worked in air conditioned rooms," he said, realising the problem. He waved his wand and muttered a few words, and Amanda felt as though a bucketful of ice had been dropped under her clothes. She yelped in surprise and began to shiver uncontrollably. "Sorry! Too much!" cried out Phineas, realising his error. At least it was simple enough to fix, though his partner was less than thrilled at having essentially been dumped into an icy bath.

"As useful as it is, I would prefer not to be frozen solid," grumbled Amanda, stalking off.

"Hey, I said I was sorry!"

A few minutes of walking later (and profuse apologies on the part of Phineas), and they found themselves in front of a rather tiny store. Well, tiny may not have been the most accurate way of describing it; it was a narrow-fronted store, for certain, though it seemed to reach up high into the sky.

"Ollivanders, makers of fine wands since...382 BC?" Amanda read, looking at the faded gilded writing just above the door. "That is truly an ancient shop,"

"Oh, I'm certain this wasn't the original shop. But the Ollivanders have always been the best wandmakers in all of Europe. Come, let's get a wand for Cordelia,"

Entering the rather dimly-lit store, Cordelia blinked a few times to let her eyes get used to the darkness. She could make out shelves full of various brown boxes, stretching high towards the ceiling. In fact, every single wall was lined with the shelves; there was hardly any space that wasn't filled with a nondescript box or two. In the middle of the room sat a heavy black desk with a lamp, which was illuminating a thick ledger.

In front of that, however, was a poorly-dressed boy with messy jet-black hair, who was waving a wand uncertainly. A jet of bright red light shot out, narrowly missing the ancient man who was likely the shop owner; thankfully, neither the beam nor the explosion struck the man, who continued to rush about with more boxes in his arms as though nothing had happened.

"Hmm. Perhaps that was not the wand," he muttered, snatching the wand out of the boy's hands and replacing it with another. "Perhaps this. Hawthorn, eleven and a half inches. Unicorn tail hair,"

Another wave, and a flower vase in the corner of the room exploded into tiny bits. "No, no, definitely not,"

"Is this normal?" Amanda whispered under her breath, noticing the trail of destruction that was likely caused by the boy. Shelves in the back had several boxes ripped out of their resting places, a few glass panes were smashed – and of course, the flower vase that had just been shattered was certainly still shattered.

Phineas simply nodded, shrugging. "Ollivander's always been one for hands-on testing,"

"Ah, more customers. I will be right with you, after I find a wand for Mr. Potter here,"

As the old wandmaker vanished into his storeroom once more, the boy that had been trying wands turned around to have a look at who was with him. He gasped as she saw Cordelia – as did the girl when she saw his face.

That hair. That scar. That could only be one person.

"Harry?"

"C-Cordelia? Wait, that's your name...isn't it?"

Phineas looked at Harry, and then at Cordelia. "You two know each other?"

But it was Amanda that answered. "I do believe that is the same Harry Potter that lives with...the Dursleys. Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging?"

"Yeah...uh...aren't you...?"

"Your neighbours, yes. Number Three, Privet Drive," chuckled Amanda, shaking her head with an amused smirk on her face.

"I haven't seen you in a long time!" said Cordelia happily, "Is Dudley and his gang giving you a hard time again?"

"Well—er, nothing that he doesn't do normally, really," Harry quickly answered, "Thanks, though. I mean, for that time in the park,"

"That time in the park?" Amanda asked sharply, "What happened in the park?"

The little copper-haired girl frowned slightly. "Dudley and Piers were beating up Harry. They didn't want to play nice when I asked them, so I-"

"She made them stop," Harry finished for her. A little _too_ quickly, again.

Amanda noticed that Cordelia was about to say something more, but caught Harry's gaze and shut up. "Very well. We shall have to speak about this later when we are alone, young lady, if you will not discuss it openly. No secrets under my roof,"

"Okay, mother," Cordelia sighed. The soft cough of the shopkeeper behind Harry drew all of their attention again, and for that she was grateful.

"Are we ready to continue, Mr. Potter?" Ollivander asked, smiling. After Harry nodded, Ollivander offered him yet another wand. "Try this one. Holly, eleven inches, nice and supple. Phoenix feather core,"

Hesitantly, Harry accepted the wand. A rush of warm air spread throughout the shop, and an inner light seemed to engulf the boy. His hair lifted up, as though there was a gentle breeze emanating from him, and Amanda swore she could sense _power_ of some sort coming from the boy.

"It seems that we have found your wand, Mr. Potter," Ollivander spoke, though he cradled his chin thoughtfully. "Curious...how very curious,"

"Uh, excuse me, Mr. Ollivander, but...what's curious?" he asked uncertainly.

"I remember every wand I ever sold, Mr. Potter," answered Ollivander, who took the wand back from Harry's hands, "It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand gave another one. Just one only. And it is curious that you have received this one...and it so happens, that its brother gave you that scar,"

"You mean, Voldemort's wand has the other one?"

Ollivander visibly flinched. Hissing lowly, he replied, "We do not speak his name. The wand chooses its owner, Mr. Potter. It's not always clear why, but it is clear that we can expect great things for you. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did many great things. Terrible, yes. But great,"

Harry visibly gulped. "That will be seven Galleons, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, walking to the desk at the front and dipping a quill into an inkwell, "And should you need accessories for your wand, you only need to ask,"

The boy quickly counted out seven large gold coins and dropped it into Ollivander's waiting hand, accepting his wand in exchange. Turning to face Phineas, the man gave a curious smile. "Ah, Mr. Black. Twelve and a half inches, oak, dragon heartstring, was it not? I remember making it to you a very long time ago. So long, that I have almost forgotten. So, what can I do for you today?"

"Your memory's still sharp, Mr. Ollivander, but I'm not here to do anything for myself today. Actually, my daughter needs a wand,"

Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "Your daughter?" he said curiously, glancing towards the girl that was standing still beside an older woman that strongly resembled her, "Ah, I see. I did not think that you would settle down at all, friend. After all, your mother-"

"-Is someone that I would rather not hear about," he finished curtly, clenching his fists.

"I meant no offense," Ollivander commented, holding up his hands placatingly. He turned his gaze to Amanda, who was looking at a few examples of wands that were on display, "Still, I remember everyone that has come through here, as well as their wands – and yet, I cannot remember her wand. Did you marry a Muggle woman, by any chance?"

"I am not married to Mr. Black, Mr. Ollivander," Amanda spoke, "Our relationship is...complicated enough without others prying,"

"Ah. I see. Alright. Merely an old man's curiosity. Still, I wish the both of you the best of luck. Now then, the job that I must do. Young lady, if you would come to me?"

Nervously, Cordelia approached the man. She squeaked in surprise when a tape measure seemingly flew up from the desk at its own accord and began measuring everything about her. "Well then. How old are you, Miss...?"

"Flynn," Amanda answered for her, "She is ten years of age,"

"Ah. A little on the tall side for a ten-year-old, I should say," Ollivander commented, taking down notes on what the tape measure was recording."Hmm. Curious indeed. This may be a challenge to find her a right wand, but I'll see if I can't find something for her,"

And thus began the longest wand search that Ollivander had ever gone through in his career, resulting in a thoroughly trashed shop. After half an hour of unsuccessful attempts with all manner of wands and cores, Ollivander was left scratching his head in confusion. Harry, wanting to see what his friend got for her wand, chose to stay behind even after a giant of a man came to collect him. Both were now watching Ollivander repeatedly fail to find a suitable wand for Cordelia.

"I must say, that in all my years, I have yet to find someone whom I could not match to a wand," he murmured, gently putting away a few displaced wand boxes as he pondered on the problem.

"Could it be that the materials don't match her?" offered Phineas, who was equally perplexed by what he was seeing. The wands either did not light up for her at all, or released feeble sparks, as though in protest.

"Perhaps. Perhaps that may be the solution," Ollivander spoke, looking into Cordelia's eyes. "There's something different about you. I feel it. And if that's the case, maybe I should try something different as well,"

He went back into the back of the room and returned moments later with a long red box. Inside was an onyx-black wand, embellished with a narrow golden band about its base. "Yew, thirteen and a half inches. Thestral tail hair,"

Tentatively, Cordelia accepted the wand, dreading that it would do the same as the others and wreak destruction on the shop. Yet even as she held it, there was no destruction. Instead, a palpable sense of power rushed into her fingers and all throughout her body. She felt herself levitate a little, and her hair seemed to lift for a few seconds.

"A most unusual combination, indeed! Thestral tail hair...I have not seen a wand with that material leave my shop for over thirty years," Ollivander murmured, watching Cordelia glide back down. "Most unusual,"

"Well, considering that almost every witch or wizard I've known uses either a phoenix feather, a unicorn tail hair or a dragon's heartstring, I'd say that anything else would be unusual," joked Phineas, eliciting a small smile from the wandmaker.

"Perhaps I am looking too deeply into the wandlore. After all, even if the wand chooses the witch, the witch is the one who directs its actions. That will be seven galleons, Mr. Black,"

Handing over seven galleons from her gold pouch, Amanda could not have been happier to be out of the wand shop. It was one thing to be shopping, but another to be in a shop with so much...destruction in the air. Surely it was not safe to be in there with so many blasts of energy flying about. But as she looked at her daughter's sunny smile, she knew that it was for a good reason.

"So, what's next on the list? Textbooks, uniform and equipment...I think that you can skip the vials, you've probably got better quality spares at home anyway," Phineas said, waving Harry goodbye. "Oh, that's right. Pets!"

"Pets?!" Cordelia exclaimed excitedly, "I could have a pet?"

"Perhaps. Depending on what it is," Amanda said, motioning for her daughter to settle down, "I will not have a spider or a toad roam my house. But considering your reaction to them earlier, I find that unlikely. What pets are permitted?"

"Hogwarts allows for cats, owls and toads. I think rats are also allowed," hummed Phineas, "Owls are the most useful, though. They're smart enough to understand you, and they can carry your mail. I think for most people, owls would be the best choice,"

"A pet with a use would be...optimal," conceded Amanda, though she shivered at the thought of having bird droppings scattered everywhere in her house. "Assuming that they could be kept in a cage or the like,"

"That goes without saying, Amanda. Still, let's go to Eeylops' Owl Emporium. They should have quite a few nice ones that we can buy,"

The shop was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of owls in a gigantic aviary; though for some reason, the entire place was in an uproar. Owls were flying this way and that, with loose feathers scattered all over the floor; inside the aviary with the owls were three witches with their wands out, shooting bolts of red light at something that was evidently flying around and terrifying the owls out of their wits. Judging by the amount of owls dropping stiffly to the ground, however, it was evident that whatever it was inside the cage was more skilled than the witches.

"What's happening?" Phineas asked one of the customers that were gawking at the spectacle inside the aviary.

"A raven got inside the owl shipment somehow, and it went free. It's been flying around for the last ten minutes in there, and the witches couldn't land a stunner to save their lives," replied the man with a snort. He took out a watch and glanced at the time. "Make that fifteen minutes,"

Sure enough, another hail of red bolts shot around the room, hitting nothing but owls. The black raven that was flying around inside was a blur, darting this way and that. As it flew past the window, Cordelia caught a glimpse of it. It was holding a galleon in its beak, with a glimmer of intelligence in its eyes that really should not belong on a bird like that. Compared to it, the owls that were hanging in cages around the shop may as well have been permanently asleep.

"Mum," she said slowly, keeping her eyes on the raven, "I want that one,"

"You want...the raven?" Amanda said, following her daughter's gaze. "Are you really sure?"

"Mhm. Definitely sure,"

She then looked at Phineas, who shrugged. "If my daughter wants a birthday gift that's long overdue, I really can't refuse her, can I? Let's just get in there and save them any more pain. _Alohomora_ ,"

With a click, the door leading into the aviary unlocked itself, and the ex-Auror slipped into the aviary. Moments later, he emerged with a raven dangling from his hands, silver chains wrapped around its legs while it flapped its wings indignantly.

"We don't normally let customers go into our storage areas, Mr. Black," one of the shop owners grumbled, following Phineas out, "But your help is appreciated. We could've been there for another hour before we could have brought that little monster down,"

"And it looks like my little daughter likes that little monster," chuckled Phineas, "How much do you want for it?"

"That little troublemaker? You can have it for free,"

"We'll have to get it a cage. I suppose a galleon would be enough for one?" he said, plucking the galleon out of the bird's mouth and offering it to the woman.

"That would be plenty, Mr. Black. I'll get the cage, and good riddance! Hopefully it doesn't cause you too much trouble in the future,"

"Well, I should hope so," Amanda muttered, eyeing the black bird cautiously.

Purchasing books and other equipment, thankfully, was far less eventful. A rant about how paper was superior to parchment in every way at Flourish and Blott's caused the bookstore's proprietor to give Amanda a dirty look, though fortunately it didn't escalate to anything more than that. Phineas had gone on his own to purchase the other equipment, saying that most of the other things were located in separate stores. That left only clothing, at Madam Malkin's Robes for Every Occasion, where they encountered a fuming boy with platinum blonde hair storming out of the shop, his mother following closely behind. Thinking nothing of it, they purchased the three robes required and a black witches' hat made of silk, as well as a hooded winter cloak.

"Got everything?" Phineas said, waiting for them as they emerged from the robe shop with several boxes of new clothes. At his feet were more boxes full of the other supplies, as well as a cage containing a raven pecking a galleon. "Let's see. Wand, books, clothes, other equipment...and a pet. You seem to be ready for Hogwarts, Cordelia!"

Her only reply was a smile that stretched from ear to ear. "Thanks...dad!" she said, throwing her arms around Phineas in a bone-crushing hug that squashed the wind out of him.

"That's...okay..." he gasped, tapping on her shoulder to release him. Realising what was wrong, Cordelia released him and skipped back, blushing. However, the dark look on Amanda's face told him that he was not out of the woods just yet.

"'Dad', is he, Cordelia?" Amanda murmured venomously, locking her gaze with Phineas. "Phineas. We will need to have a talk,"

Phineas Black, former Auror, was shrinking under the irate gaze of an unarmed Muggle woman. "Merlin help me," he squeaked out.

* * *

A/N:

Looks like fanfiction derped out on my last update, and didn't bump it up to the front as expected - or listed it as having been updated. Oh well.

It's a curious thing about Ollivander wands, in that he literally only uses three core materials for the vast majority of his wands. At least the other wandmakers in Europe seemed to be more flexible about materials.

Equipment? Check. Letter? Check. Malfoy encounter? Avoided, but barely. Pureblood supremacy cat fight inbound! Activate all Protegos and hit the deck!

Questions? Comments? Feel free to ask. I will try to answer them as best I can.

-ArcturusWolf


	4. 04 - The Platform Between Worlds

Phineas Black never believed that he would ever be a man tied down to a house. Disinherited by his mother, he never stood a chance in the pure-blood marriage game. Who would, after all, marry their daughter to a man who could not pay a dowry, or even bring about a political alliance between their houses? Not a single one among the Malfoys, Notts and other Most Ancient and Noble Houses, that was for certain. And so he had resigned to believing that he would never manage to land a woman.

That, it seemed, was a foolish line of thought. Among the pure-bloods, he did not stand a chance. Amongst the muggle-borns, he would be further ridiculed for taking an 'unworthy wife', and would likely damage the reputation of whoever he married. Among muggles, however, who had no links at all to the magical world? He had never thought that far. Certainly his mother would be turning in her grave at the thought of a Black marrying – or even having a child with – a muggle. God forbid, one out of wedlock.

And thus he was roundly berated by Amanda after she had put Cordelia to bed. The woman was utterly furious that he had decided to still consider Cordelia his daughter, and yet left her alone for ten whole years. The only hint that she had that he still cared was the annual stipend that he sent through mail.

So she forced him to make a promise: to give Cordelia at least a chance to experience a normal family with both her parents still present. Under the strongest terms possible under magic, which meant an Unbreakable Vow.

He wondered just how long he would be able to maintain his glamour for, to fool both Cordelia and Amanda into thinking that he was actually still a younger man and not an old man held together by magic. Glamours were not particularly easy to cast, nor were they easy to maintain. But after seeing Cordelia's amazed expression whenever he would talk to her about magic, and walk her through the easier spells in her textbooks? He would expend all his magic and still walk through a wall of Fiendfyre, if it meant that he could keep that illusion going forever.

And so for the next month until the Hogwarts school term started, Phineas Black actually found himself living in a proper home instead of the Leaky Cauldron's budget rooms. His 'wife', who had procured a pair of golden rings after a couple of days to give the impression that they were married, proved to be a meticulous housewife on days that she was at home. Floors were kept immaculately clean, all kitchen surfaces kept to a mirror sheen, and even the carpets did not have a single speck of dust on them. Well, it may have been the cleaning charms on all the mops and vacuum cleaners, but he was not going to let her know that.

Still, Amanda kept them all well fed and well looked after. Her cooking might have been somewhat bland, but it was certainly healthy and nutritious. A side-effect of being a scientist that was keenly aware of how the human body functioned, he supposed. Cordelia never wanted for food during proper meal times, but neither did she ever receive snacks during other parts of the day. And if Cordelia never had that privilege, neither did Phineas or Amanda. Something that he found out the hard way, after he attempted to sneak back a bottle of butterbeer and a pack of chips after dinner. He slept on the living room couch for three days after that stunt. Not that he would ever try it again; that particular couch was almost rock-hard, and he was left with an aching back for at least a week.

Despite everything, he found himself...happy. Happy that he had a proper home. Happy that he had a woman who cared for him, in her own special way. Happy that he had a daughter to dote on and to teach. Happy that he found people who would accept him as he was. Not Phineas Black, the mudblood-loving, disinherited disgrace of a Black; just Phineas Black. It was more than he could ever have hoped for.

But a month was only a very short time indeed. The day that the Hogwarts Express would arrive at Kings Cross drew ever closer, and Phineas found himself counting down the days, just as his daughter did. But while his daughter could not contain her excitement, he felt a sense of disquiet. He had just started to experience what it meant to have a family, and yet he would once again be separated. At least, he told himself, she could write back home by owl.

Huginn, as Cordelia called the female raven after reading a book on Old Norse legends, proved to be abnormally intelligent. She still had the common traits of ravens, of course. One could not leave a Galleon or Sickle laying about in the open without the thieving bird stealing it, and then taking it back to the small hoard of shiny things in her cage. But after a while, Phineas noticed that the bird was rather attached to Cordelia. She would hardly ever leave her shoulder after perching on it, and seemed to listen to every word that was spoken around them. Sometimes he'd joke that the raven was doing some of the reading for Cordelia and feeding the information back to her as she slept. Whether or not that was true, he was certain that the bird would fluff itself up proudly after he ever mentioned that.

* * *

At last, that day came. With a large trunk loaded on a trolley, and Huginn in a cage on top of it and cawing loudly whenever she saw something shiny, they would have made quite a sight for all the passers-by in King's Cross station. At least they were wearing normal-ish clothes. Phineas was doing a remarkably good job of blending in with muggles, wearing jeans and a casual flower print shirt. Compared to the obvious wizard in front of them that was wearing a swimsuit and a bowler hat, he was virtually indistinguishable from other commuters.

"I still believe that you should have worn something more formal," Amanda said, shaking her head as she suppressed a smirk at the wizard in front of her. She wore a businesslike black suit, helping her to blend in with the morning London office workers.

"This is fine, love. It's too hot and stuffy to be wearing a _suit_ , after all," he jabbed back with a grin on his face.

"It is most definitely not too warm. Where is this...platform nine and three-quarters? Surely, that cannot be correct,"

"Wait and see, love. Wait and see," Phineas chuckled back, guiding his daughter and her trolley to a wall between platform nine and platform ten. "There it is," he whispered, pointing at the brick wall.

Cordelia blinked at it. Once. Twice. She could not, for the life of her, see anything different about the wall. It was just a wall of bricks. "Dad, this is...a wall," she complained. A wall was a wall. That was what her eyes told her. She ran her fingers on the wall. It felt like a wall of bricks. She even had a strange thought that maybe, if for some reason she were to _lick_ it, it would surely taste like bricks!

"Surely it wouldn't be like the one in...that wizarding shopping district, would it?" asked Amanda quietly, noting the sheer number of people walking past them. Oddly, they didn't pay that much attention to them, despite obviously prodding at an otherwise blank wall.

Then Phineas smirked widely, and thrust his hand into the wall. Only for his hand to go right through – and his arm, all the way to his elbow.

"See? Platform Nine and Three Quarters," he chuckled, amused by Amanda's stunned expression. "Come on, let's go,"

Gleefully, Cordelia grabbed her trolley and ran at the wall. She disappeared into the brickwork. Following suit, Amanda tentatively walked in – after testing the wall with a few gentle taps of her foot, of course. And then Phineas followed after his 'wife', winking at the plain-clothed Ministry official on the platform as he did.

"Wow. That is..."

Cordelia had stopped in the middle of the platform on the other side, gawking at the sight that greeted her. A gigantic scarlet steam engine, puffing out great billowing clouds of steam, sat on the single track that led out of London. Various carriages stretched for as far as the eye could see behind it. Hundreds of wizards and witches, in muggle and magical attire, stood on the platform to chat with each other and to their children. Cats of every colour and shape wound their way around the legs of those present, while owls in cages on heavy trunks hooted in a disgruntled way to each other.

"Amazing," Amanda spoke, her eyes taking in the spectacle that was the Hogwarts Express. "To think that an ancient steam engine would be kept in pristine condition...this is..."

"Yep. It's so incredible, that you can't even find words for it!" Phineas joked, dodging a slap from Amanda.

"We probably shouldn't stand here to chat. There are going to be others coming through. Come on, let's get your things loaded onto the train," Phineas said, pulling Cordelia and Amanda aside just as a boy with dreadlocks emerged from the wrought iron archway that was the portal to the platform.

He led them to a compartment all the way at the back of the train. It was still empty, seeing as most of the students hadn't bothered to walk all the way across the platform. "Right. So the students' luggage goes inside. You'll be responsible for them in the train and off the train; the school will take them to your dorms once you're sorted into houses," explained Phineas, pointing at the compartment inside, just past a corridor. "So, mind passing up your things, dear?"

"Oh, right,"

She heaved up the massive trunk with one hand and Huginn's cage with the other, popping them onto the train with ease. Phineas suppressed a grin; in the muggle world, such a feat would have raised quite a few questions, but at least here, it could be explained away by the use of Featherlight Charms or Undetectable Extension Charms. Not that anyone needed to know that neither of those were actually present, of course.

"Blimey. A trunk with a Featherlight Charm. Wish mum got me one of those," Cordelia heard an awed voice say from behind her. She turned around, catching sight of a pair of grinning red-headed twins and another gawking red-head in front of them. A younger brother, seeing how similar they looked.

"Or maybe-"

"-Mum just wants you-"

"-to grow up-"

And then simultaneously, the twins both rubbed their knuckles on either side of the boy's temples. "Ickle Ronniekins!"

"Gerroff me!" grumbled the one that they had called 'Ronniekins'.

Giggling a little at the trio's antics, she turned away from them to see if her dad needed any more help. It was then that she heard grunting and huffing, along with the sound of a heavy trunk scraping on metal – and then a pained cry to her right.

There was a boy with an oddly-familiar mop of messy black hair, nursing his toes from where his trunk had obviously fallen on it. A snow-white owl in a cage looked in concern at him, hooting softly.

"Harry?" she said, stooping down to check on him. The boy looked up, and then finally smiled as he recognised her face. "Do you need some assistance?"

"Yes, please," he panted.

Grabbing either side of the trunk, she lifted it up and heaved it into the train. It was slightly heavier than her own one, but still manageable. Soon enough, she moved it into the compartment, with the rest of her own things. "There," she said, hopping out of the train.

"Thanks, Cordelia," said Harry, brushing some stray hair from over his eyes.

"Wait, what's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar.

"Blimey," the other one breathed, "Are you...?"

"He is...aren't you?"

"What?" asked Harry, confusion evident on his face.

"Harry Potter!" both of them chorused at once.

"Oh, him," Harry said, "I mean—yes, I am,"

The two boys gawked at him, and Cordelia saw that Harry's cheeks were reddening. She made a note to ask him about what exactly it was that Harry did to get that sort of reaction from the twins. She'd asked her dad before, but he was not particularly forthcoming about the information. And neither was her mum.

"Fred? George? Are you there?" came a woman's voice from towards the front of the train. Both of the twins looked at each other and then walked away from them, leaving Harry and Cordelia with Amanda and Phineas.

"Well, Cordelia, this is it. You're going off to Hogwarts, like I did many years ago," her dad said, smiling as he hugged her gently, "Take care now. Don't get into too much trouble, but...have some fun while you're there. Life's not all about books and quills, you hear?"

"Oh, hush. Make sure that you pay attention to the teachers. I will not have my daughter be known for idleness," her mother ordered. "And ensure that you do look after yourself...dear,"

"Thanks, mum," she giggled, unlatching herself from Phineas and throwing her arms around her mother. "Love you too,"

"As do I for you, Cordelia," she whispered, ever so quietly. "Now go and make some friends. There is some time left until the train departs, if I am not mistaken,"

Cordelia nodded and jogged towards Harry, who had by now rejoined the family of redheads. The tall, gangly one that she knew had been called 'Ronniekins' was sporting a bright red patch on the tip of his nose which was not there a few minutes ago; the handkerchief held in who must be his mother's hand gave away exactly what had happened.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got something on his nosie?" said one of the twins in a sing-song voice.

"Shut up," grumbled the boy, who stalked off in embarrassment.

"Where's Percy?" asked their mother, looking at the red-haired boy's retreating back and shaking her head in disapproval.

"He's coming now,"

Yet another red-headed boy came striding towards them, though this one happened to be already in his billowing black Hogwarts robes. His chest was puffed up proudly, displaying a bright silver badge with an ornate letter 'P' on it.

"Can't stay long, mother," he said pompously, "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves-"

"Oh, _are_ you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, clapping his hands to the sides of his cheeks, "You should have said something, we had nooo idea,"

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin, "Once-"

"Or twice-"

"A minute-"

"All summer-"

"Oh, shut up," snapped Percy the prefect.

"How come Percy gets the new robes, anyway?"

Now that he mentioned it, Cordelia noticed that 'Ronnie' or 'Ronniekins' – she didn't know which name to use just yet – was wearing some rather tattered clothing. His jeans had torn holes in them that looked roughly patched up, while his shirt was at least five sizes too large for either his height or shoulders. His twin brothers looked much better, with far fewer patches on their baggy pants; but nothing could truly disguise the way that the seams of their shirts looked about to burst. Perhaps their clothes were passed down from brother to brother?

She didn't get much more time to ponder the issue before a high-pitched squeal of "Harry Potter!" brought her back to reality. One of the mother's children – her youngest daughter, by the looks of it – had spotted Harry, and was now ogling Harry from behind her mother.

"Hush, Ginny. You've already seen him, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at, like the animals in a zoo. But is he really Harry Potter, Fred? How do you know?"

"Saw his scar. It's really there – like lightning,"

"Poor dear. No wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get on the platform,"

 _He's right there, you know,_ Cordelia thought to herself, casting an apologetic smile at Harry.

Then the other twin blurted out, "Never mind that, do you remember what You-Know-Who looks like?"

"Actually, I don't remember," Harry replied, accidentally reminding the family that he was there – and he was actually listening in. The poor mother lost all colour in her face as she realised that they had all been talking about him the entire time, with him most definitely in earshot!

"Oh, I'm really, really sorry about that, Harry. It's just – you were so quiet! My other boys would never stay quiet if someone were ever talking about them," she apologised. A shrill whistle sounded not long after, reminding them that the train was about to depart. "Alright. That's the sign that you all should be getting on the train. Off you go, then; hurry up!"

It didn't take long before they were all ushered onboard the train by the school's prefects. A shadow fell across Cordelia's face as she watched the platform shrink in the distance; her mother and father were on it, waving towards her as she departed. It was the first time that she had been so far away from her mother, and she did not know what to make of it. The platform and all its people vanished from view as they rounded a corner, and Cordelia let out a sigh that she never knew she had been holding in.

"Well, uh...I guess we'd better find a seat, right?" Harry said to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. The twins and Percy had gone to other carriages, leaving the two of them in this one particular carriage with a number of other students that they did not know. Fortunately, they had their own compartment with no other students inside.

"I guess so. I don't think it would be too comfortable standing up for the whole ride, right?" she said nervously, sitting down on a seat near a window, with Harry next to her. Houses and buildings flashed past, and she found herself wondering just how far away Hogwarts really was. "So uh...Harry, do you know where Hogwarts actually is?"

"No," Harry admitted, "I mean, I guess it's there in that textbook, _A History of Magic_. But I really haven't read that much of it, aside from the first few pages,"

"I heard that it was somewhere in Scotland. Mum showed me a map, but I really couldn't tell how far away that is. I mean, I thought the park down the road was far enough,"

Harry fought back a laugh, but failed and ended up making a face somewhere between a grimace and a smile. "I—I guess that's far for us, isn't it? I mean, back when we were in Privet Drive..."

The door of the compartment slid open, and the youngest redheaded boy walked in, a battered old trunk in tow.

"Anyone sitting here?" he asked, pointing at a seat opposite the two of them, "Everywhere else is full,"

Harry shook his head and he sat down. Glancing at Harry, and then at Cordelia, he raised an eyebrow and held out his hand. Cordelia blinked, not quite sure what to make of it.

"So...uh, I saw you with Harry back on the platform. My name's Ron, what's yours?"

She still looked blankly at the boy's outstretched hand, until Harry nudged her with his elbow and whispered to her, "Shake his hand and tell him your name,"

"It's...Cordelia. Nice to meet you, Ron," she answered after taking his hand and giving it a firm squeeze. A firm squeeze that caused Ron's eyes to water as he prayed to every deity that he knew of that his hand would still be in one piece.

"Ouch. That's one strong grip," he whimpered, rubbing his hand after she released it, "Hey...Cordelia?"

But before he could ask anything more, a familiar pair of redheads showed up at the compartment door.

"Hey, Ron,"

The twins were back, sporting wide grins on their faces. Whether this was normal, or if it was a sign of bad things to come in the immediate future, Cordelia had yet to figure out. "Listen, we're going down the middle of the train. Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there,"

"Right," mumbled Ron, staring at a particularly interesting speck on the table.

"Harry," the other twin said, "Did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then,"

"Bye," the three of them answered. The compartment door slid shut behind the twins.

Moments passed in awkward silence after the twins had left. Eventually, Ron worked up enough courage and blurted out, "Are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded, and brushed his hair to one side, showing the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

"So that's where You-Know-Who-"

"Yes," Harry quickly interrupted, "But I can't remember any of it,"

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well – uh, I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else,"

"Wow," Ron said. For the next few moments, the red-haired boy simply sat there and stared at Harry, though he quickly switched his attention to the grassy fields outside the train when he suddenly realised what he had been doing.

"Uh, excuse me- Ron?" Cordelia piped up, "I mean, I've heard that name being said in Diagon Alley, and everyone says You-Know-Who when Harry says Vol-"

"Shhh! Don't say his name! Are you bloody mental?" Ron quickly hissed, waving his hands wildly. "Don't say his name. Nobody does,"

"But why? Vol-"

"Shh!" Ron repeated, shrinking down into his seat and looking over his shoulder, as though someone was out to get him. He leaned in and added in a whisper, "You lived with muggles as well, didn't you? I mean, practically everyone in the magical world knows not to say You-Know-Who's name,"

Cordelia gave him a curious look. Ron gulped, knowing that he had to explain it to her. "He was a...really, really bad man," he started, "Did a lot of things. Killed people. Didn't care about who he was doing it to,"

"So why didn't anyone stop him?"

"Blimey, I think everyone wanted to stop him. It didn't matter, though. I heard from my great-uncle that the Ministry sent a team of Aurors to get him, but he just beat them all. Nothing could stop him,"

"Until he killed both of my parents, and then tried to kill me-" Harry finished, pointing to the scar on his forehead, "-giving me this scar,"

Ron looked around nervously. "Anyway, that's the shortest I can give you. Everyone's still scared of what he did,"

"That still doesn't explain why you're so scared of the name," the copper-haired girl said, frowning, "I mean, it's just a name. Harry uses it and nothing bad happens to him,"

"Yeah, but—he's Harry Potter," Ron said, finishing lamely.

Cordelia and Harry shared a look and she shrugged. "I guess I should just not say the name, then,"

"Yeah. Yeah. That'd be great, actually," Ron said, looking as though the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Are all your family wizards?" Cordelia asked, propping up her face with her hands. "It would be pretty cool, seeing people that can do magic every day,"

"Er...yes, I think so," said Ron, "I think mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him anyway,"

"So you must know a lot about magic already," Harry concluded, looking at the boy with a smile on his face. Ron gave a half-hearted nod which shifted into a shake, resulting in him looking as though he were simply moving his head randomly.

"Anyway. I heard you went to live with muggles," Ron said, "What are they like?"

"Horrible," Harry replied, "-well, uh...not all of them. My aunt and cousin are, though,"

"He didn't stop after what I did to him at the park?" Cordelia gasped, staring at Harry. When he shook his head, she sighed and hung her head. "Some people are just too...stupid!"

"You tried, though," he said quickly, "Anyway, I wish I had three wizard brothers like you, Ron,"

"Five," Ron corrected. A glum expression fell on his face for some reason. "I'm the sixth in the family to go to Hogwarts. You could say that I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was Head Boy, and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect, Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone else thinks they're really funny. Everyone else expects me to do a lot, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat,"

Ron reached into his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, which was soundly asleep. Even with a brief but vigorous shake, the rat continued to doze away.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless. He hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl for being a prefect, but they couldn't aff- I mean, I got Scabbers instead,"

Obviously thinking that he had spoken too much, Ron's ears burned bright pink. Feeling sorry for Ron, Harry decided to cheer him up by telling him all about his life with the Dursleys. He never had any money in his life before meeting Hagrid, only had hand-me-downs from Dudley – which were, naturally, _very_ ill fitted – and rarely, if ever, received proper birthday presents. This perked Ron up slightly, hearing that maybe even _he_ was still treated relatively well compared to Harry.

The train, by that point, had sped well past London. There were numerous sheep and cows zooming past in lush fields. They all spent some time just watching the hills and grasslands zoom by, empty fields and lanes flicking past.

Around half past twelve, a great clatter from further down the train caught their attention. A smiling, dimpled woman walked into their compartment, pushing a cart loaded down with all sorts of food.

"Anything from the cart, dears?" she asked. Cordelia's stomach gave off a tremendous growl, causing her to blush furiously while the other two raised an eyebrow.

A minute later, and Cordelia had already handed the woman sixteen Sickles and twenty Knuts worth of food – and a generous jug of pumpkin juice. Ron stared as the mountain of delectable snacks, cakes, chocolate and candies was piled high in the middle of the table. "Wow, Cordelia. Are you really going to finish all that?"

"Nope," she said, picking up a pumpkin pasty and pouring herself a glassful of juice. As odd as the food all sounded, she found herself excited to try out some new things. "You guys are probably hungry too, right? Have some!"

"Yeah, I guess I missed breakfast. Thanks, Cordelia," Harry said, taking one of the pumpkin pasties and taking a bite out of it.

"Hmm, where's the nutritional information on this?" Cordelia murmured, washing down a bite with some juice and looking at the wrapper on an unopened Chocolate Frog.

"A what?" Ron spoke through a mouthful of chocolate.

"You know, nutritional information. Mum says I can't have too much sugar, or my teeth will start to fall out or something,"

"I never heard of anything like that, and I've been eating chocolate for ages. My teeth are still okay, aren't they?"

Fortunately for them, Ron had drunk some juice before showing them a pearly white smile. She didn't know if she would even have an appetite left if he had flashed them teeth that were coated in chocolate.

"Yeah, I guess yours are still okay. Maybe they're not that bad after all?" she replied, picking up a squirming Chocolate Frog and giving it a lick. Her face lit up at the sweet taste, and she soon devoured five in quick succession, savouring the delicious taste. "Wow, mum never let me eat any chocolate at home. I guess she just doesn't want me to eat a hundred of these. They're delicious!"

"Hey, Ron, what are these?" asked Harry, picking up one of the cards that lay face-down after Cordelia went on a frog-munching rampage.

"Ooh, see what it is. I'm missing Agrippa,"

"What?"

"Oh, right, of course, you wouldn't know – Chocolate Frogs have cards in them to collect. Famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I'm still missing Agrippa and Ptolemy,"

Now that caught Cordelia's attention. Dozens of frogs later, she was munching on yet another pumpkin pasty while reading the descriptions on the back of her cards. "Here's Agrippa, you can have him," she said, passing the card to an ecstatic Ron.

"Wow. No way," he gasped, holding the card like it was some priceless treasure, "Really? I can have this?"

"Yep! It's all yours," Cordelia said, smiling. She reached for another snack, this time snagging a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"You have to be careful with those," warned Ron, "When they say 'every flavour', they mean every flavour. You know, you have all the ordinary ones like chocolate or peppermint or marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-flavoured one once. Pass me one?"

Tentatively, Cordelia held out a bean to Ron. When he pulled a face after he bit into it, she could not help but giggle. "Bleargh, see – sprouts,"

And so began the game of seeing who could get the most – and least – delicious beans out of the whole pack. Harry managed to land one that tasted like grass, and his best seemed to taste almost like toffee; Cordelia almost vomited one that burned on her tongue like fire, which turned out to be chilli, while she nearly melted in bliss on tasting a strawberry cheesecake. Ron, however, was staring in fear at a particularly small yellow bean.

"Go on, Ron, eat it," Harry laughed. Gulping, Ron managed to down it in a single gulp – and immediately reached for his glass of pumpkin juice. "What was it?"

"Earwax!" Ron replied, gasping for breath.

"Wait, how did you know what earwax tasted like...?" Cordelia asked, tilting her head. Realising the answer, her eyes widened and she turned away to face the window, cheeks burning a bright crimson. "No, no! Eww, gross! Okay, don't answer that!"

Such was the good time that the three were having, that they did not notice time passing by rapidly. The open fields and pastures gave way to dense forests and twisting rivers. A boy had passed through their compartment earlier, asking about a missing toad, to which they answered that they hadn't seen a toad for the entire day. Most of the snacks had disappeared by then, with the exception of a single pumpkin pasty that was still uneaten. Scabbers, no longer content with simply snoozing in Ron's pocket, had poked its head out and sniffed at the uneaten pasty.

"Oh, fine, you haven't eaten anything all day, have you? Stupid, lazy rat," he sighed, pulling Scabbers out and popping him onto the table. Cordelia picked up the last pasty and broke it into three, feeding a chunk each to Hedwig and Huginn before passing the rest to Scabbers. "I don't know why anyone would bring a toad. If I got one, I'd lose it as fast as I could...but I have Scabbers, so I can't really talk,"

Ron pulled out a wand from his pocket and gave it a tentative wave. The thing looked as though it had been run over by a herd of cattle at some point. The glossy lacquer that had once covered it was only visible in patches, and large chips were missing from all over its surface. There was even something shiny and white poking out of the wand tip.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway-"

He had just raised his wand when the compartment slid open again. The boy who was looking for the toad earlier was back, though this time there was another girl with him, already wearing her Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said, in the best authoritative voice she could muster. Judging by Ron's disgusted look, he didn't approve of the girl's voice. Or maybe her looks; she did, after all, have rather large front teeth and a dishevelled mane of bushy brown hair.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," Ron said loudly. But the girl's attention was not on him, but rather, his wand.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" she asked testily, "Let's see it, then,"

She even sat down next to Ron, causing the boy to flinch and shrink away from her. "Er- all right,"

He cleared his throat and spoke to the wand while waving it. "Sunshine, daisies, and butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow,"

Cordelia frowned. Of course nothing happened. From what little Phineas had taught her, the vast majority of spells were written in ancient and typically forgotten languages – and had rather short incantations. The rat was still munching away on the bit of pumpkin pasty, and was most certainly still a solid grey. "Ron, I don't think that is an actual spell,"

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl, "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard - I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough - I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

The girl had spoken so fast that her words completely went over their heads. Looking at the stunned expression on Ron's face and Harry's relief, Cordelia sighed as she realised that neither of the two were particularly studious. She herself had worked through the first couple of chapters of the standard spellbook with her father, but never had she imagined that someone would be so eager as to _memorise_ the entire textbook. Before school had even started, no less!

"Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Cordelia Flynn,"

"Harry Potter," Harry finished.

"Are you really?" said Hermione, raising an eyebrow, "I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, as well as the Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century,"

"Am I...?" Harry said, his eyes glazed over.

"Goodness, didn't you know? I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione, "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best. I heard Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad..."

Perhaps realising that her audience was not as captive as she thought, Hermione huffed, "Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You three better change, you know. I expect that we'll be there soon,"

And then she whipped around and left, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," grumbled Ron, glaring at the wand in his hand. "Stupid spell, George gave it to me – bet he knew it was a dud,"

Cordelia opened her trunk to take out a set of robes and excused herself, looking for a place where she could change. There was thankfully an empty compartment next to theirs, and she quickly slipped out of her non-magical clothes and into her robes.

"These are so comfortable," she sighed, loving the feel of the silky fabric on her skin. They were ever so slightly heavier than cotton; but never had she had clothing that was perfectly tailored to her size.

When she walked out of that compartment, however, she ran into another girl that was trying to enter the same compartment that she was in. Both stumbled backwards with an 'eep'; Cordelia ran into the table behind her and fell on it, while the girl slipped on the floor and fell to the ground, hard on her tailbone.

"Oh my goodness. Are you alright?" Cordelia gasped, quickly standing up and running to the fallen girl. Holding out a hand to help the girl stand up, she was shocked when the girl batted it aside with the back of her hand.

"Watch where you're going!" the girl cried out, scrambling to her feet. Her pale, heart-shaped face was flushed, while her lips were contorted into an indignant scowl. She brushed down her robes to remove every last speck of dust before checking that her silky silvery-blonde hair was still held in place by the pin in her hair.

"I'm really sorry. I really should have checked where I was going before I walked out," Cordelia apologised, hoping to not make any enemies before school had even started.

"Hmph,"

"Look, I suppose we started badly, but could we try again? My name is Cordelia Flynn, what's yours?"

After a few tense moments of the girl glaring at what Cordelia hoped was a sorry expression, the girl finally relented. "Daphne Greengrass. Heiress of House Greengrass, one of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses of wizarding Britain. I do not recognise the name of your House. Were either of your parents wizards?"

"My father is definitely a wizard," Cordelia happily said, "He's Phineas Black. Would he be of House Black? Sorry, I really don't know much about these things,"

Which was clearly something wrong to say, as the girl's scowl deepened. "You don't know your own House? I suppose your father would be rather careless. It is something that is said to run in the Black family males, after all. Sirius Black was said to be an indolent prankster in his days, from what my father says. But yes, you would be of House Black...except..."

Daphne fixed her acid-green eyes on Cordelia, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Phineas...Phineas...I am certain that I have heard my father say something about his name. The disgraced Black son, who was disinherited by his own mother for supporting muggle rights? That would explain why you have taken your mother's name instead of his,"

"Hey! He's a great dad!" protested Cordelia, who couldn't believe that someone could be so stuck-up. She only offered an apology, and was instead slapped by a barrage of insults against herself and her father. "I mean, sure, I've only known him for a month, but he's taught me a lot about magic!"

"Known him for a month? Why would that be? Was he away for the...however many years that you have been raised?"

"Well, mum raised me by herself until dad showed up last month,"

"And why would an upstanding witch be left alone by her husband, if he was so _great_?"

It took every bit of patience Cordelia had to not lash out violently at the girl. "My mother was not a witch. She's a scientist, and she didn't even know about dad being a wizard till I got the letter and he turned up at our house,"

That, evidently, was yet another wrong thing to say to Daphne. "So, you're simply a blood traitor's daughter? No better than a Mudblood?" she asked. Her sneer widened when she realised that Cordelia didn't even know what the term meant. "Never mind. I suppose I should be going now. I should not take any more of your...precious time,"

But before Daphne walked further up the train, she turned about and said over her shoulder. "Just so you know, magic runs in wizarding families. And it runs strongest in those that have kept ourselves...pure. Or at least, purer than most,"

And with that, Daphne swept away to another carriage of the Hogwarts train, her robes billowing out from behind her and leaving a seething Cordelia in her wake.

* * *

A/N:

Edit 23/08/17:

Thank you to FuryouMiko, who has pointed out correctly that Tracey is a Half-blood. Daphne shouldn't care too much about Half-bloods at this point, tolerating them while preferring Purebloods. But it is the fact that Phineas is a disinherited blood traitor that would have caused Daphne to look down on Cordelia.

Welp, looks like my offerings of cabbages and cheese to Sheogorath have worked. The plot has been set in motion, and the stars are aligned! Quick, bring me all the quills and inkpots!

-clears throat- ...Okay, not really. But the muse has been running in overdrive for this chapter. It's taken a surprisingly short time to write this out. Blood supremacist? Check. Pureblood indoctrination? Indoctrination...hmm...-assumes direct control- Check.

Next up, the sorting. I have one voice in my ear that tells me I should be cruel and throw the halfblood to the snakelike hounds in Slytherin, and another that tells me that I should be nice and put her elsewhere. Hermione being Hermione, she must suffer Ron, for it is her fate to suffer Ron's simply barbaric levels of indolence and lack of talent!

Bob of the A: Thanks, and glad that you enjoyed reading it!

As usual, comments and questions are always welcome. And even if you don't have any, I hope that you have enjoyed the story thus far.

-ArcturusWolf


	5. 05 - The Sorting

"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately," a voice echoed through the train.

"A bossy girl, a snobbish git – what a year we've got ahead of us, eh, Harry?" Ron groaned, rubbing his nose clean of the bit of dirt that she had pointed out. "Wizarding families better than others. What a load of rubbish! I heard that Malfoy's dad was one of You-Know-Who's followers,"

"I really, really hope that's true. About...about wizarding families not being better than others,"

Cordelia stepped through the compartment door, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles were bone-white. She sat down with a huff next to Harry. Even in the dim light of the train's lamps, he could see that her face was flushed. "You're all dressed? Have everything you need?" she said sharply.

"Well—er, I guess so? There's nothing left on the table after Malfoy and his goons came through and took the last Chocolate Frog," Ron said, somewhat startled by her change in behaviour, "What happened to you, anyway? Blimey, I thought you were just getting changed, not...whatever it is that got you so angry,"

The sounds of doors sliding open further up the train and many footsteps came through the open compartment door. "Sounds like everyone's getting ready to get off," Harry said. Shoving another Chocolate Frog into Cordelia's hands, he added, "There. Eat it, it'll make you feel better. I promise I'll listen to what happened later,"

"Promise?" she repeated, unwrapping the treat and nibbling a leg. The sweet taste did make her feel somewhat better.

"Promise," he said, nudging Ron with his elbow.

"Wha- oh, yeah. Of course!"

Whether or not the red-headed boy genuinely meant what he said, Cordelia didn't seem to particularly care. The chocolate had done its work, and she was no longer frowning. Harry noted that the train was slowing down. They joined the crowd of students that were packed into the corridor outside. There was little that they could see, as it seemed that everyone else in front of them was taller; but when the train came to a halt, and the crowd thinned out somewhat, they could finally see that the train had stopped beside a tiny, badly-lit platform.

The coldness of the night air made Harry shiver somewhat. Looking around, he noticed that most of the other younger students were also shivering, though some were quick enough to have worn their cloaks.

"Firs' years! Firs' years!" he heard a familiar booming voice call out. A bright lamp bobbed over the heads of the students, and he noticed the massive silhouette of Hagrid wading through the students. "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

He could see the giant man's smile, and he waved back.

"Wow, he's huge," Cordelia gasped.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years, follow me!"

Harry didn't know where exactly they were being led to. The other students seemed to be headed towards horseless carriages further up, but the first years were being led down a slippery, stony path. It was steep and narrow, and lit only by Hagrid's lantern. Not a single one spoke, being more interested in not slipping and falling than making conversations. Only Neville, the toadless boy, could be heard sniffing.

"Ye' all get yer first sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called, looking over his shoulder. "Jus' around this bend here,"

A chorus of 'Oooooh!" filled the air.

The narrow path had led to the edge of a vast black lake. Perched atop a tall mountain on the other side of the lake, its lit windows looking like bright stars in the night sky, was a massive castle with many soaring turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid shouted, pointing to a fleet of what looked like tiny rowboats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron made their way to the one nearest to them and clambered aboard; though when Cordelia tried to climb in, they very nearly capsized.

"Sorry about that," she whispered, blushing furiously when she noticed that both of the boys were staring at her in disbelief. "This happens with everything I get into, I swear,"

"There's room for another...right?" the bossy girl – Hermione – spoke. She was looking at the boat with one eyebrow arched high, her arms crossed.

"Yeah, climb in," Harry said. Four to a boat was four to a boat. Why was Hermione looking at them like that?

And then everything became clear when Cordelia put a hand to the side of the boat – and came up with her whole hand soaking wet. "Oh," Harry said. He wondered exactly how did she manage to tip the boat so much; there were two of them on the other side of the front of the boat, and yet Cordelia was causing the boat to tip backwards by sitting at the back.

"Never mind. I'll find another boat," huffed Hermione.

"Wow. Thanks, Cordelia," Ron sighed.

"She wasn't that bad, was she? I mean, she was enthusiastic about coming to Hogwarts..."

"I dunno if I want to know why anyone could be so bothered to learn _all_ the books before even coming to school," Ron muttered.

Deciding that maybe it was time to move on to other topics before things got too unpleasant, Harry quickly said, "So...Cordelia, why were you so angry back on the train? What happened?"

"Everyone in? Right then – FORWARD!" Hagrid yelled. The fleet of little boats launched all at once, gliding across the mirror-smooth lake. Everyone else was silent, staring at the great castle overhead. It towered over them, growing larger and larger as they approached the cliff at the mountain's base.

"I just finished changing into my robes, and I was about to come back to our compartment. Then I ran into this...this Greengrass girl. I tried to say I was sorry, but she wouldn't have it!" Cordelia whispered, leaning forward so that the two boys would be able to hear. "Anyway, she starts throwing horrible insults. First at my dad, then at my mum, and then at me for being a half-blood. Whatever that means, anyway,"

Ron grimaced. "Looks like you went through what Malfoy put us through. The Greengrasses are one of the oldest and purest of the wizarding bloodlines. They always say that the pure-blooded wizards are better than muggle-borns,"

Cordelia's face fell. "So is that...really what they think?" she asked.

"Pfft," he snorted, "Well, yes. But it's all a load of rubbish, I reckon,"

The three of them ducked as they entered a low grotto that was under the cliff. Only when their eyes adjusted slightly to the darkness did they make out that it was actually an underground harbour; one that was carved out of the rock. "Well, that makes me feel better...kind of. Thanks, Ron," she muttered.

When the boats came to a halt, they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles. Hagrid checked each boat, and eventually fished out a toad, passing it to the boy that had lost it. Following Hagrid up a narrow passageway, they came out at last onto smooth, damp grass in the shadow of the castle. Climbing up the flight of weathered stone steps in front of them, they found themselves in front of the castle's huge, oaken front doors.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" he called out, watching for everyone's nods. He raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the doors.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there with a severe expression on her stern face. Harry's first thought was that this was someone that nobody should ever cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here,"

She pushed the door wide open. The entrance hall was enormous; Cordelia wondered if it were possible to fit half of Privet Drive just into this one hall. The stone walls were lit by torches, and the ceiling was so high that the walls vanished into darkness before Cordelia could even see the slightest hint of ceiling. A magnificent sweeping marble staircase led to upper floors, covered in plush carpet.

Following Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor, Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to their right. The rest of the school must have been inside already, but Professor McGonagall led them to a hall slightly off to one side of that doorway. They crowded in tighter than they would normally ever have done, peering around nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room,"

"The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each and every one of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours,"

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of rest of the school. I suggest that you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you wait,"

The toad boy – Neville – had the stern professor's disapproving gaze for a few moments. As did Ron, owing to his smudged nose. Harry, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention, nervously flattened his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall, "Please wait quietly,"

Harry swallowed when the door to the Great Hall closed behind the witch.

"How do they sort us into houses?" Harry asked Ron.

"Some sort of test. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking,"

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test, in front of the whole school? They hadn't even learned any magic yet. What was he supposed to do? Looking around, everyone else seemed to be terrified. Cordelia had taken out a spellbook that she had hidden under her robes, quickly rifling through it as her eyes scanned each page; Hermione was muttering very fast about what spells she'd learned, and which ones she thought she might need.

Neither of them were helping.

He'd never been more nervous. Never. Not even when he had to take home a school report saying that he'd turned one of his teachers' wigs blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any moment, Professor McGonagall would come back through the door, and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened behind him that made him jump. Several people behind him had screamed.

"What the-?"

He gasped. So did everyone else around him. A host of ghosts had just walked out of one of the walls. Pearly white, half-transparent, they glided across the entrance hall while talking to each other, hardly paying attention to the first years. They seemed to be arguing. "Forgive and forget, I say; we ought to give him another chance," spoke one that resembled a fat, short monk.

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, and you know, he's not really a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

That came from a ghost wearing a massive ruff and tights, who had finally noticed the first years.

"New students!" the fat friar said, smiling at all of them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few nodded, too stunned to say anything.

"Hope to see you all in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know,"

"Move along now," a sharp voice said, "The Sorting Ceremony's about to begin,"

Professor McGonagall had returned, and the ghosts vanished one by one as they walked through a wall on the opposite side.

"Now, form a line, and follow me,"

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron just behind him. Cordelia had vanished into the line further ahead of him. He could barely make out her coppery hair several places in front, half-hidden by others' robes.

* * *

Through a pair of double doors they went, and Cordelia could never have imagined a more enchanting place – in more ways than one. Thousands upon thousands of lit candles floated in mid-air above four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. At the head of the four long tables was another long table on a raised dais, where the teachers were sitting. Following Professor McGonagall, the first years formed a line in front of the teachers' table, so that they were facing the rest of the older students. Looking up, she nearly gasped at the sight of a starry night sky, just as it had looked outside but several minutes ago.

"-It's enchanted to look like that. I heard in _Hogwarts: A History_ ," she heard Hermione whisper to someone else.

However it was done, or whatever it was, it was certainly impressive.

A scraping noise got their attention as Professor McGonagall a stool in front of them. One that had a tattered, frayed and patched wizard's hat, that looked as though it had never been washed in years. No, centuries might have been closer to the mark.

A few awkward moments of silence passed when Professor McGonagall took a step back and crossed her arms behind her back. Nothing happened. The hat sat on the stool, and the students stared. And stared. And stared. Until suddenly what looked like a seam in its middle split wide open like a mouth – and it began to sing very loudly:

 _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me._

 _You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all._

 _There's nothing in your head  
That the Sorting Hat can't see.  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be._

 _You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
Set brave Gryffindors apart._

 _You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,  
And unafraid of toil;_

 _Or yet, in wise and old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind.  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind._

 _Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends._

 _So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables (if one could even consider a hat flopping in their direction a bow), and then became quite still again.

"So, we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered, "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!"

A slight smile quirked Cordelia's lips. Whatever a troll was, that sounded like it would be quite fun. Yet soon she wondered. Where exactly would she fit? Her mother would certainly fit into Ravenclaw if she had been a witch, and her father said that he had been sorted into Slytherin. What was she? She couldn't hope to match her mother's brilliance, and she didn't know what exactly they meant by 'cunning folk'. Wasn't that the same as being smart, and therefore the same as what Ravenclaw wanted? Brave, maybe? But her mother and father always dealt with everything before it could get to her.

Professor McGonagall stepped up, holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said curtly, "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line and tottered towards the stool, jamming on the hat. Its wide brim fell over her eyes, and she sat down. A moment's pause-

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at Hufflepuff table. The ghost of the Fat Friar was waving merrily at her as she walked.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

And the second girl scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped, this time. Several of them even stood up and shook the boy's hands as he joined them at their table.

And so it went, until her turn.

"Flynn, Cordelia!"

Nervously, Cordelia approached the hat. She gently picked it up and sat down on the chair before slipping on the hat.

"Hmm," she heard a small voice in her head, nearly causing her to jump. She gripped the sides of her chair tightly, hoping that there were no more surprises. Her heart was pounding in shock. "Interesting. Very interesting. I must say, muggle academia isn't my strength, but that studiousness is definitely a Ravenclaw's. You have the talent of mind for it, that much I can see. But the way you can- oh my, that was quite a large boy you just threw – hmm. If you knew Harry at the time, that was Hufflepuff loyalty. But you didn't, which meant that you only helped him because it was right,"

Several of the students began to murmur, and Cordelia's cheeks began to heat up. How embarrassing would it be if she wasn't sorted at all, and was sent home?

"Oh, hush. I already said that you had talent. Now why would I want to send you home, hm? Slytherin's definitely out, it seems. Which leaves only one valid option. Better be...GRYFFINDOR!"

That last word was shouted so loudly that her ears were ringing. Cordelia took off her hat and walked to the Gryffindor table, still shivering profusely. It was a good thing that she had a cloak with a hood; her face was bound to be tomato red at this point. She walked to the previous boy that had been sorted into Gryffindor – the one who had lost his toad, Neville Longbottom – and sat next to him.

"Wow," he gasped. His face was absolutely pale. "For a moment there, I thought that the Sorting Hat might've just stuffed up and couldn't put you into a house,"

"It didn't, though," she replied.

"And it can't. According to _Hogwarts: A History,_ it-"

"Hermione, please," sighed Cordelia, barely audible over thunderous applause for the Patil twins being sorted into Gryffindor, "I like books too, but this really isn't the time,"

"But it's so interesting!" replied Hermione. Judging by Neville's glazed eyes, it seemed that others had a decidedly different definition of what was interesting.

"Sorry, we seem to have missed one. Greengrass, Daphne!"

Whatever Cordelia was about to say next to Hermione was immediately forgotten. That was the snobbish pure-blood heiress from the train. Out of curiosity, Cordelia looked the direction of the Sorting Hat. She primly brushed the skirts of her robes, making sure that it fell evenly to either side of her stool as she plopped the hat on her immaculately-groomed silvery-blonde hair. Not that any amount of preparation was really necessary; the hat barely touched a single hair on her head before it screamed out, "SLYTHERIN!"

The girl lifted the hat from her head and let it fall on the chair, before striding towards the Slytherin table. She sat down on a seat beside a platinum blonde boy. Which, coincidentally, happened to be directly opposite Cordelia's, and even facing the Gryffindor table. Somehow, she caught Cordelia staring at her; her eyes narrowed into slits, forcing Cordelia to avert her gaze. The young girl's heart sank. What exactly did she do wrong to offend her like that? Was being a half-blood really that offensive?

 _Or the pure-bloods were all that nasty_ , she thought to herself. But then, thinking back to the train trip, Ron didn't seem too bad. Neither did his brothers; despite all the pranks they pulled on their youngest brother, it was all in the name of fun. Ron mentioned a certain Malfoy, who she assumed was another pure-blood who was nasty.

"Measure what is measurable, and make measurable that which is not," she muttered under her breath, recalling the words that her mother often said to her. She still hadn't known these people for long enough to make a proper judgement. Not yet, at least. And it was wrong to make a judgement on a group based on the actions of a few.

And at long last, after all the new students had been sorted, the Headmaster stood up. Albus Dumbledore, she remembered, from one of the Chocolate Frogs' cards. He wore a pair of golden half-moon spectacles, beaming brightly at the students; exactly the same as he had appeared on the card. His arms were opened wide, welcoming all the students.

"Welcome," he said, "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

Only the soft crackling of the candles overhead could be heard.

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody else clapped and cheered; Cordelia looked across the table, to find both Harry and Ron also nonplussed.

"Is he a bit mad?" Harry asked to Ron's older brother. Percy the Prefect, if she remembered correctly from the platform in London.

"Mad?" Percy said airily, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world. But a little bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Cordelia fought hard to not drool at the sight in front of her. Every bit of food that she could ever dream of was in front of her. Pork chops and lamb chops; succulent beef roasts and tender roasted chicken; sausages, bacon and steak; potatoes in all manner of sauces, both boiled and roasted; huge silver bowls of peas and carrots, accompanied by boatlike tureens of gravy and tomato sauce. For some strange reason, though, she was certain she also saw some candy that resembled insects creeping on golden dishes.

"Blimey. Got enough there, Cordelia?" Ron laughed, looking at the huge pile of roasted potatoes and two thick slabs of steak on her plate, doused in copious amounts of gravy.

She shrugged and smiled, pointing at his own plate. "Like you could talk, Ron. You've got a whole leg of roast pork in front of you!"

When a ghost approached their table and was asked to demonstrate how he was 'nearly' headless, Cordelia decided that it was probably best to put all her attention into demolishing the generous meal in front of her. Which proved to be a very good idea, considering the shocked gasps all around her.

When she thought that she couldn't eat another bite more, the golden plates seemingly cleaned themselves, returning to their pristine, shining condition before the banquet started. And within moments, dessert appeared in front of them. Fruit of various kinds, and various kinds of sweet-smelling cakes and puddings. "Traitor," she muttered under her breath as she looked down; her stomach rumbled loudly, though thankfully not so loud that the others could have heard.

The talk at the table shifted from the food to their families.

"I'm a half-and-half," said Seamus, "Me dad's a muggle. Mum didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him,"

Everyone laughed. "Me too, but it was my dad that was the wizard. Mum didn't know till I got my Hogwarts letter,"

"Wow, that's really late. How'd she take it?"

"Oh, she took it...pretty well. I mean, I've only seen him sleep on the couch for three days, so I think she still liked him anyway,"

They all laughed at that. "How about you, Neville?" asked Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up, and she's a witch," said Neville, "But the family thought I was all-muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic into me. He pushed me off Blackpool Pier once, and I nearly drowned. But nothing happened till I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came around for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs windows by the ankles,"

"That couldn't have been safe!" exclaimed Cordelia, a shocked look on her face.

"-but anyway, my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced. All the way down into the garden, and into the road. They were all really pleased; Gran was so happy, she was crying. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here. They thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased, he bought me my toad,"

Neville's broad grin was so infectious that Cordelia forgot all about her shock about him being held by his ankles. It was, perhaps, a lot less sensible than what anyone that she knew would have done. Anyone that she knew before coming here, at least. But hearing that magic was there to help you in the most unexpected ways? That was a great relief for her.

Still, as she listened to the happy chatter all around her, she felt a warm haze come over her mind. Everyone was so cheerful and so happy, that it felt like nothing could possibly go wrong. Even the unpleasant memories of the snobbish heiress' actions seemed like it belonged in a distant past, no longer worth thinking about. With her stomach full, a cool drink of sweet pumpkin juice in hand and surrounded by a happy group of friends, she felt like she was in heaven.

A magical heaven that she would be a part of.

* * *

A/N:

Gryffindor it is! No pit of snakes for Cordelia. Not just yet...

Bob of the A: It's interesting to note that there are actually more Squibs in Pure-blood families than there are in half-blood. And seeing as muggle-borns come from entirely non-magical lines, it's obvious that there can't be Squibs coming from those, but I digress. If there are more Squibs in Pure-blood families than Half-blood, by the number of actual witches/wizards coming from mixed parentage families, it'd be possible to say that Half-blood has stronger magic, owing to the way it persists across multiple generations. However, it's debatable whether witches/wizards who are NOT Squibs in Pure-blood families are individually better. Without a way to qualify it, it's impossible to say whether Pure-bloods are stronger in magic.

Dragon Man 180: A lot of the stuff you're suggesting would fall under spoiler, so I won't comment on much of that. :P Lifting up a multi-ton basilisk is a bit far, though. But we'll see when we get to that. As for Daphne being like Draco is to Harry, I wouldn't say that she is. She's much more intelligent than Draco is, and due to weaker political connections to save him from being run over by the pain train when it comes (go home to daddy, Draco!), she would be more apt to use...subtler means than outright bullying.

On the point of Hermione vs Ron, however, it'd be an interesting difference, I think. Part of the reason why Hermione is utterly, completely insufferable in the first half of the first book is that she's a bookworm that regurgitates everything that she reads, verbatim. No thinking about whys or hows, it's "this is in the book, it must be right"; granted, she is brighter than other kids, and intellectual equals or peers would help her settle in.

Thanks for reading, guys. Hope you enjoyed it. As usual, comments, questions are all welcome, and I'll answer them as best I can.

-ArcturusWolf


	6. 06 - Of Snakes and Lions

Cordelia found herself completely bemused by the sheer scale and complexity of the castle. A hundred and forty-two staircases, one of the prefects said; and countless more doors, false doors and trick doors. Some of which only opened on certain days, others that only opened when they were tickled, touched or tapped on a certain spot, and some that only responded to certain spells. The great staircase that seemed to run from the bottom of the castle to its top soared to dizzying heights, always shifting and moving about when nobody was on it. And the Gryffindor dorm, it seemed, was located at the very top of the great staircase.

At first, she was worried about whether or not her luggage would be taken to the right room. A loud caw when she entered the first year girls' dorm, however, put all her fears to rest. There, at the foot of one of the four-poster beds, was her trunk; and on the bedside table was the cage that held her pet raven. Looking rather well-fed and dozing on its perch, not even noticing that there were other girls that have come into its room.

Which Cordelia took as a blessing. After all, a cawing raven wasn't something someone wanted in a bedroom, of all places. Especially when they were trying to sleep.

"Wow. Is that...a raven?" Parvati commented, walking up to Huginn's cage and leaning in for a closer look. The bird was completely asleep; it didn't even crack an eye open.

"Yeah. Her name's Huginn," Cordelia said, rummaging in her trunk for her nightgown.

"The rules said that we weren't supposed to have pets other than cats, toads and owls," she heard Hermione huff, "Is that yours?"

"No, it's hers. Cordelia, wasn't it?"

"Ravens aren't very friendly. I read that they attack post owls on the way to deliver messages. They're also really loud, and they like to steal shiny things. Why do you keep one, anyway?"

"Huginn's really friendly, and she's never attacked one of dad's owls," Cordelia retorted, raising an eyebrow. "But she does like stealing shiny things, like coins, and she can be kind of loud. Which is why dad put a permanent silencing charm on the cage. And why can't I keep one?"

"Because it's against the rules,"

Cordelia was utterly dumbfounded. "So that's it? Only because it's against the rules?" she said, not believing what she was hearing. "If the teachers-"

"Professors,"

"-right. Professors. If the professors were really strict on the rules, they would've sent Huginn home, wouldn't they? I mean, it's not like we moved our things up here ourselves. They would've seen our things first,"

"Yeah, Hermione," Parvati said, "I don't think they even care that much about pets. I mean, Ron keeps a pet rat, doesn't he? And they didn't take it away,"

"Only because the professors haven't seen it yet,"

"Professors aren't the only ones that are making sure the rules are followed. I mean, aren't the prefects supposed to be doing that, too? Ron's brother is a prefect, and you don't see him doing anything about Scabbers,"

"It's still wrong," muttered Hermione in frustration, stalking off in the direction of the common room.

"Great. It's not even the first day of school, and I've already made two people mad at me," Cordelia said dejectedly, her shoulders slumping.

"Hey now, cheer up," Parvati's twin, Padma, said, "I mean, I did read about the rule about pets, too, but ravens aren't dangerous. It's only there to stop students from bringing in dangerous creatures, anyway,"

"How do you know?"

"Well, Hagrid was in the boat next to ours and he was saying things about...fun pets that students weren't allowed to bring in," said Padma, shivering slightly. "Sometimes, I don't think his idea of a pet isn't the same as everyone else's. You're Cordelia, right? I'm Padma, and this is my twin sister Parvati. I'm certain that you'll have a better day tomorrow when you get to know everyone better!"

* * *

At the very least, what Padma said had proven to be quite untrue for at least two of her friends. From the time that Harry had gotten up and walked into the Gryffindor common room, there was a crowd of people whispering about seeing the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. By the time he arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast, that crowd had grown from only the Gryffindors to include the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as well. This continued for most of the first week, much to his and Ron's displeasure; and from what he could see, the end of it wasn't anywhere in sight.

On Friday, however, Harry tried to hide himself with his cloak. Not that it did him any good, as the cloak had no hood, and people only needed to take a quick look at his barely-hidden scar to tell that it was really him. Eventually, after parting the oglers with the help of Fred and George, Harry and Ron managed to find a seat next to Cordelia at breakfast. She had reached the hall much earlier than they did, and was just sipping away at a cup of water while reading a potions textbook. So engrossed was she, that had they not prodded her side, it was likely that she wouldn't have noticed them at all.

"Oh. Morning, Harry," she murmured, rubbing her bleary eyes. When she saw the few people that were still ogling him, she raised an eyebrow and said, "Wow. You're still popular,"

"I really wish I wasn't," he replied morosely, "I can't go anywhere without being stared at. It's..."

"Awkward? Embarrassing?" she helpfully supplied.

"Yeah. I wish they'd stop, but it'd take forever telling everyone to stop. Anyway, I'm starving. What's for breakfast today?"

"Same as usual. Bacon, eggs, toast, baked beans, milk and cereal. Mum said that bacon and eggs were always good to start a day with, so I went with that. There's still plenty left, if you'd like some,"

"I'd love that, thanks,"

After Harry's plate was piled high with food, Cordelia took a look at her timetable. Double Potions was the very first lesson that they had, with the Slytherin first years. Taught by a certain Severus Snape. A feeling of dread pooled up in her stomach. She heard rumours about Snape from the older Gryffindors that had arrived early, and very little of it was good. Terrifying would be the mildest word that she could use to describe the rumours, and she hoped that issuing Gryffindors detention was not actually a hobby of his. Add that to the reputation that he had of favouring Slytherins – of course, being head of said house might have had something to do with it – and she _really_ dreaded the class.

The sound of numerous beating wings in the air caught her attention. Looking up, she smiled as she noticed the hundreds of owls in the Great Hall. Some brown, some white, some flecked and others plain; but all were circling overhead, trying to spot the intended targets of their senders. There was a particularly large brown barn owl that sped towards Cordelia, carrying a small brown package on its leg.

"Oh. You've got something for me, have you?" she said, watching her father's owl land in front of her and stick out its leg. Quickly untying the package from the bird, she offered a chunk of bacon to the bird; she wondered what exactly her father or mother could have sent so early in the term.

Inside the package was a set of seven small vials of vibrant crimson liquid, and a note.

 _Dear Cordelia,_

 _I hope that Hogwarts has been welcoming to you, as it had been for me many years in the past. I still remember the Sorting fondly; I hope that the Hat didn't give you too much of a scare. It did try to prank me on my own Sorting ceremony, by suggesting that it would put me into Hufflepuff! I'm curious about which house did you end up getting into._

 _Your mother and I miss you greatly. There is something different about having only just the two of us in the house, without you to add to the conversation. When you are able to, please write back to us._

 _P.S. Your mother has expressed her concern about the quality of nutrition provided at Hogwarts. Especially considering your...condition. If the house-elves are as fond of spoiling students as they were in my days, then these nutrient potions will help you grow as you should. Drink once a day every day, after breakfast._

 _Love,_

 _Your father and mother_

"Who's that from?" Harry asked curiously, looking at the vials. "And what are those?"

"It's from my dad. My mum's worried that I'm not getting the right foods. She probably asked dad to send some nutrient potions," sighed the copper-haired girl. She uncorked one of the vials and downed it with a single gulp and shuddered.

"What? The right foods? She's worried about you _starving_ in Hogwarts? Your mum must be mental, mate," said Ron through a mouthful of bacon.

She was rather miffed at his choice of words. "Hardly. Anyway, you should finish breakfast. We've got double potions first,"

The potions classroom was down in the dungeons of the castle. Though torches lit the corridors leading to it, they did little to brighten the dark and dismal atmosphere. Several of the Gryffindor students looked at each other uncertainly, not knowing what to expect. They heard, just as Cordelia did, about the dislike that the Potions professor had against their house, and huddled together a bit closer than usual.

"Hey, what do you think...you know...Potions is going to be like?" Seamus asked Dean.

"I dunno. I heard from some of the third years that he doesn't like us Gryffindors,"

"I heard that he doesn't like _any_ of the students, except for the Slytherins," added one of the girls who were following behind. They all looked extremely uncomfortable. Eventually, one of them found enough bravery to push open the Potions classroom door. One by one, the Gryffindors walked in, only to find that the Slytherins were already inside – and the professor already waiting for them, his arms crossed behind his back as he paced in front of the classroom.

Cordelia's first impression of the professor was that of an overgrown vulture. With a face that looked permanently split between a scowl and a sneer, having a huge, hooked nose, as well as black hair that seemed as though he had dunked it into a tub of oil, he utterly radiated unpleasantness. The look of contempt that he showed to the Gryffindors – particularly Harry, for some odd reason – did not help any. His eyes roved over the class; eyes as cold as the darkest tunnels that ran beneath the castle.

"So it seems that the Gryffindors have finally decided to come in time for my class. How...quaint," he sneered.

He began by taking the roll call, like any of the other teachers. But instead of sitting them down at the tables – or rather, workbenches, considering the things on them – he ordered them to stand in the middle of the classroom.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. His voice was barely more than a whisper, yet they caught every word. It was incredible how he was capable of maintaining a class' silence with so little effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads that I usually have to teach.

Everyone was dead silent after Snape's speech. Most of the Gryffindors looked at each other in bewilderment, although Hermione looked as though she had eaten a fiery pepper with the way she was nearly bounding up and down in excitement. The Slytherins wore unreadable expressions on their faces, except for Daphne and Malfoy, who had crooked smirks on their faces.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hermione's hand immediately shot to the air, while Harry shared a confused look with Ron. It was evident that he didn't know the answer. "Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?" he whispered to himself, just barely audible.

"Speak up, Potter!"

"I don't know, sir," Harry answered.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything,"

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione looked as though she were trying to reach the ceiling. Which, admittedly, was quite possible, given how low it was above her. Harry's blank look spoke volumes about how little he knew of what a bezoar was – if he even knew anything at all about it. The pale blonde boy in the Slytherin group, along with two of his friends, were shaking as they stifled their laughter. Thinking to spare Harry from any further humiliation, Cordelia also raised her hand to answer. She had read about it somewhere in the middle of the potions textbook; but why would a professor ask a question that a student had likely not studied yet?

Not that it did any good. She, along with Hermione, were ignored.

"I don't know, sir,"

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this point, Hermione's fingers looked as though they would soon brush against the low ceiling of the classroom. Cordelia put her hand down, not having read that far ahead yet.

"I don't know," Harry said quietly, "I think Hermione does, though. Why don't you ask her?"

A few people laughed. Seamus winked at Harry, amused by his response; but Snape looked as though he were about to throw Harry bodily out of the classroom.

"Put your hand down," Snape snapped at Hermione, "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood produce a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you copying that down?"

All the students scrambled to an empty seat and began to take out quill and parchment. Over that noise, however, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter,"

Things hardly improved for the Gryffindors from that point on. Snape forced them to write down huge amounts of notes on various plants and fungi, and their uses, all while sniping at Harry with thinly-veiled insults. By the second half of the lesson, however, even Harry's usual tolerance for absorbing insults had worn thin. His face was red, and he wasn't thinking clearly. At this point, the students were told to split up into pairs to make their potions. It was then that Cordelia realised that there was an odd number of students in both Gryffindor and Slytherin – and that she didn't exactly have a good friend to pair up with.

Harry had paired up with Ron. Neville was grateful that Seamus had chosen to group with him, although that was likely because nobody else would accept him. Hermione had somehow separated Padma and Parvati, pairing up with one of the twins. All the other boys and girls in Gryffindor had found their pairs.

"Oh look, the half-blood hasn't got any friends. How sad," the blonde-haired boy from Slytherin whispered, while his oafish partner laughed in response.

"Well? Find your partner, we haven't got all day," Snape snapped at Cordelia, causing her to jump and look around for a cauldron and a workbench that only had one person behind them.

 _Oh no. This is not happening,_ she thought to herself. Her heart dropped when she saw the only other person left without a partner.

There, behind a workbench nearest Snape's own, was the girl with the pale golden hair from the train. Her eyes narrowed as she met Cordelia's gaze; but then she nodded. Tentatively, Cordelia scurried to her side.

"Hi," she said to Daphne. The heiress merely returned a curt nod, "Do you mind if I...work with you?"

"There are no other available partners in the room. Was that question really necessary?" she replied coolly, "You may,"

Snape waved his wand over the blackboard that was hanging on the wall of the classroom, and instructions immediately appeared on it. Cordelia thought that it looked almost like one of the science experiments that her mother did. She smiled as she realised that she knew exactly what she needed to do.

Daphne raised an eyebrow when Cordelia cut a small piece of parchment from a roll and took out a quill, copying the ingredient list from the blackboard. "I'll be back with the ingredients," the taller girl said, walking quickly to the now-open storage room marked 'ingredients' with a pewter bowl in hand.

To say that she was disgusted by the smell would be an understatement. Some of the ingredients were putrid enough in Diagon Alley, where the smelliest ingredients rested under air vents. Here, in the Hogwarts potions lab, there was absolutely no ventilation whatsoever, and the stench caused her to gag and cough.

"It's only a few minutes," she gasped, covering her nose and picking out the ingredients. Six snake fangs, two porcupine quills, a bunch of dried nettles to be weighed later, and...a single horned slug. "Eww. It's so slimy,"

Nevertheless, she had a potion to brew. Returning to her workbench, she found Daphne looking at her strangely.

"Is something on my face?" Cordelia asked, hoping that she hadn't gotten something disgusting on her.

"No. It's just..." Daphne started. The girl opened and closed her mouth as if to speak, several times, and eventually just shook her head. "Let's start on our potions,"

"Alright. So we need to crush the snake fangs, the dried nettles need to be weighed," said Cordelia, taking a silver knife, scales and a mortar and pestle from the side of the workbench. "I'll crush the snake fangs, and maybe you can weigh and cut the dried nettles?"

"I have no problem with that. Just make sure that you can crush the snake fangs finely,"

Cordelia nodded and picked up the six snake fangs, and began to grind them to dust. In the meantime, Daphne started to weigh out the dried nettles, carefully cutting away excess bits that didn't need to go into the potion.

"Flynn. Why haven't you got your cauldron on the fire already?"

She looked up and blanched when she saw Snape towering over her, his arms crossed. "Are you such a dunderhead, incapable of following even the simplest instructions? How would you create a potion, when your cauldron isn't even on the fire, or even filled with water?"

"I-"

"A point from Gryffindor for ineptitude, Flynn. Get some water and bring that cauldron to the boil. At least Miss Greengrass is competent enough to know that the dried nettles need to be finely shredded,"

Cordelia nodded mutely, not knowing how to respond to Snape's comments. She walked to the tap at the side of the classroom and filled the cauldron two-thirds of the way, careful not to trip on the slippery floor on the way back. By the time she came back, Daphne had finished shredding the dried nettles into even, tiny pieces. But the snake fangs had only been partially crushed.

"Sorry. I should get this heated up and finish crushing the fangs," Cordelia said, setting the cauldron down over the fire and starting on the fangs again. It was a good thing that the snake fangs were not particularly hard to crush to a fine powder, and by the time that the cauldron was bubbling, the fangs had been well and truly powdered. She took a measuring spoon and dropped exactly four spoonfuls of the powder to the potion, careful to level it off every time.

Snape wandered by their table once more, and took a look at the now sky-blue potion.

"Acceptable work, Miss Greengrass," Snape said, "Two points for Slytherin. Remember you will need to keep it at the correct temperature for ten seconds,"

Daphne nodded, keeping an eye on the timer on their workbench. As soon as it had ticked down to ten seconds, she tipped in the nettles and waved her wand, casting the potion-making spell as the textbook had described. It was now a matter of waiting for the potion base to brew for half an hour or so, until the colour shifted to an off-white.

"Flynn, what are you doing?" hissed Daphne, noticing that Cordelia was fiddling with the fire under the cauldron.

"The book said that it was supposed to be kept at a steady simmer for exactly thirty-five minutes in a pewter cauldron. It was too hot," Cordelia said quietly. When Daphne didn't move, Cordelia took out her copy of the textbook and pointed out a section that she had highlighted.

"Oh. Very well,"

With their potion brewing steadily, the two settled into silent reading. Daphne was already poring over the contents of her textbook first, and Cordelia didn't want to disturb the girl. Having her own copy of the textbook was nice at times; she could read what she wanted, when she wanted. That was, as long as the room was quiet enough. With everyone else up to more or less the same stage as they were, the class inevitably descended into idle chatter. Except for Hermione, who seemed intent on rattling off everything she had memorised from the textbooks in as little time as possible.

Her shrill voice was grating on Cordelia's ears, and as much as she liked knowing that there were other Gryffindors that knew what they were doing, Hermione was too much. It was impossible to think, let alone concentrate, when the walking textbook's voice was incessantly hammering on her eardrums. Groaning, she clamped her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the noise. Taking a look at her partner, she noticed that Daphne was reading calmly, as though the class was as silent as the library's reading room.

 _If she can do it, I can too,_ Cordelia thought to herself.

And by the end of the thirty-five minute wait, she finally accepted that there were limits to just how much noise someone could block out. Daphne had long since finished reading a chapter of the book, and was now hovering over their potion, gently waving her wand over it. Checking the method once more, Cordelia picked up the four horned slugs and shoved them into the deep blue potion.

"Ninety seconds," she said tersely, and Daphne nodded. The stewing slugs slowly shifted the blue potion to turquoise, releasing little hisses as bubbles rose gently from the bottom of the cauldron. Eventually, it reached an even, bluish-green colour, and no more bubbles rose up.

"Time,"

To her horror, Daphne had picked up the porcupine quills and was about to add them. "No!" she cried out, grabbing Daphne's wrist and pulling it back, with perhaps a bit more force than she intended. The girl slipped on the wet floor and crashed to the ground, letting go of the porcupine quills. The quills, at least, clattered on the table, only inches away from falling into the still-heated potion.

"Miss Flynn. Explain yourself," Snape hissed, sweeping over to their workbench. A wave of his wand had Daphne levitated back to her feet, and another wave vanished all the grime that had gotten on her robes. "Now,"

"I—Daphne was about to add porcupine quills to the potion," she stammered out, "It-it was still on the fire. The textbook said to take it off the fire before adding the porcupine quills,"

"And so it does. Would you care to explain why this is?"

"Because it would explode?"

"Correct. Three points to Gryffindor, for actually understanding the most basic of safety instructions," Snape said. A gasp of surprise came from the Gryffindors, but there was still an unpleasant crooked smile on his face. "And five points from Gryffindor for manhandling one of my students. There are other ways of preventing accidents than throwing a fellow student to the ground, Flynn. Make sure that this does not happen again,"

Cordelia was outraged. She was about to retort when she felt a hand squeeze her wrist. Turning around, she noticed that Daphne was staring directly into her eyes with a stern look – and an almost imperceptible shake of her head. That was a clear message, and one that made sense. Arguing back would just give Snape more excuses to take more points off Gryffindor, at her expense.

"Yes...sir," she slowly said, swallowing whatever argument that she was about to shout out.

"Good. Make sure this doesn't happen again,"

Fuming, Cordelia took the cauldron off the heat and allowed it to cool a little. Throwing in the porcupine quills, she waved her wand over the hissing and roiling liquid. As the textbook described, it shifted to a bright cherry red. Pulling out a set of stoppered vials, she took three samples of the potion; handing one to Daphne, slipping one under her robe, and left one on Snape's table, labelling it with her name and Daphne's name.

"There, Professor, our completed potion is on your desk. Ready for you to check,"

Snape raised an eyebrow, not expecting someone to have finished early. The other students were still waiting for their potions to finish brewing the potion base. Lifting the vial to his eye, he held it up to the light, perhaps checking it for its colour; then, satisfied that it was at least the right colour, he pointed his wand at a container of toads in the corner of the class.

"Accio toad," he incanted, and a toad zoomed out of the container and into his hand. It croaked in his hand once, before he put his wand to its back. "Furnunculus,"

A gold light shot out of the wand. Great warty boils sprouted up on the toad's skin, causing Cordelia to recoil in shock and disgust. With a swift, practiced movement, Snape unstoppered the vial on his desk and emptied it on the toad. And as soon as the red liquid touched the toad's skin, the boils all vanished as though they had never been there at all.

"Five points to Slytherin for a perfectly brewed Boil-Cure Potion, Miss Greengrass. Excellent work," he said silkily, handing the now-empty vial back to a thunderstruck Cordelia.

Minutes later, Cordelia was storming out of the dungeons, furious. Never had she thought that there was a teacher that was so blatantly biased towards the students of his own house, and never had she thought that there was a teacher that would deliberately humiliate students! So enraged was she, that she did not see a puddle on the slanted stone step on the staircase leading up; with a surprised yelp, she fell to the ground, sliding back down towards the dungeons on her front.

"Flynn," she heard Greengrass speak, in that ever-so-calm-and-cultured voice of hers. Taking a deep breath, Cordelia pushed herself up and stood tall, brushing as much dust as she could from her robes.

"Greengrass," she answered curtly. True, it was strange that Daphne had come to seek her out immediately after class, but so far the Slytherin had either remained mostly silent in class or ignored her. Or, in the case of what happened on the train, insulted her and her family. Thinking that it would be any different this time was wishful thinking, she thought to herself.

"You did...adequately,"

"Adequately," she repeated in disbelief, "Adequately? We put together a perfect Boil-Cure Potion on the first try, with a teacher that wasn't really teaching us anything, and all you can say is that I did _adequately_?"

Cordelia shook her head and stalked off, muttering angrily under her breath, leaving a crestfallen Slytherin girl behind. She faintly heard her say "You did well," - ever so quietly – but that couldn't have been possible. Not in the slightest.

* * *

A/N:

Snape: Asshat meter, on a scale of 1 to 10: 11.

There's an awful lot of contradiction about what the Boil Cure potion actually is, and how it is made. Even in canon sources, there's no single coherent method or list of ingredients. Weighing nettles is mentioned in the book itself, but it's never mentioned when the nettles are added; the games have two different recipes for the same thing, with radically different methods and ingredients. So I went with one that should be as close as possible to the one found in the book.

Dragon Man 180: Clubs are fun. Unfortunately, while we think of weapons of war, Cordelia would probably see a 'club' as being either an oversized baseball bat, or something that you use in golf. Both of which tend to target balls. Let's just leave it at that.


	7. 07 - Sunshine and Rainbows

Weekend came, and with it the alluring promise of spare time. As soon as they had breakfast, the first years found themselves roaming the grassy grounds, basking in the last warm rays of the bygone summer. Sure, they still had to bring jumpers wherever they went, but at least they could still go around without being snowed in. That alone was a plus, considering that the castle could be quite draughty at times. Some, however, had been kept behind by...unfortunate circumstances.

Fred and George had smuggled in a few boxes of Chocolate Frogs to the Gryffindor common room, handing them out to whoever was present and would accept it. Which meant nearly every single first year that did not yet know the one golden rule of Gryffindor house: you never accept a free gift from either of the Weasley twins. And so began a day when the little lions turned into chickens, much to the amusement of all the seniors – and the chagrin of many fresh first years, who had their first taste of Fred and George's pranks.

And so Madam Pomfrey was thoroughly confused when Percy brought in what looked like a flock of white, fluffy hens and roosters to the hospital wing. A quick diagnostic revealed the issue, and the matronly healer reversed the prank without any problems.

"I swear, when I get my hands on Fred and George..." Ron grumbled, flushing a brilliant red when he had been only partly cured on the first pass. Partly, because there was still a glowing crimson comb on top of his head.

"Well, I didn't think that they would actually prank us that quickly," added Harry, who had thankfully been cured properly. He gave his toes an experimental wiggle, grateful that there were no lingering complications. "Did you see Cordelia anywhere? I'm kind of worried. She hasn't spoken to anyone since Snape's class from what I heard,"

"Cordelia? Mate, I don't think I've ever seen her in the morning in the common room. She's probably already down in the Great Hall having breakfast,"

His stomach rumbled. "Breakfast sounds good right about now, actually. How about we go down there and get something to eat before lunch? We've got the whole weekend to ourselves. Might as well do something fun, right?"

Ron nodded. The two of them rushed down to the Great Hall, where they found only very few students left. "Huh. That's weird. She's usually reading a book. But I don't see her,"

"Maybe she's already gone off somewhere? I mean, we're kind of late,"

* * *

The boys were not far off on their guess. Cordelia had decided to take a stroll onto the grounds on her own, numerous conflicting thoughts running wild in her head. What Snape had said – and done – had left her very much confused about the state of the wizarding world. The headmaster seemed to be genuinely nice and caring to everyone. The head of Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall, had sympathised with her after she had informed the elder witch of what had happened in the potions class. They were as fair as fair could be, and she was grateful for that.

From what she understood, a very large portion of the Slytherin population of Hogwarts referred to themselves as 'pure-bloods'. Something like the nobles that she had read about in history books in her mother's mini-library. Why this would make a difference, she didn't know; but one thing that she knew for certain now was that Snape utterly detested anyone outside of Slytherin. He would do anything to make his own house look better than the others, as she found out in class yesterday. Did it have anything to do with blood status? She didn't know yet, but she hoped that it didn't.

Thinking back, Daphne had called her a 'half-blood' on the train, as though it was an insult. She even said something about magic running in families, and how it was strongest in those that were 'pure'. Did that mean that...she was weaker at magic, because only her father had magic?

She plopped herself down on the lush grass under a tree. The other students were wearing everyday, ordinary clothes, but she couldn't find any reason to _not_ wear the Hogwarts robes. They were far more comfortable to her; a little airy about the ankles, maybe, but they felt... _right_. Made her feel like a true witch. And in this sort of cool weather, there were even fewer reasons to not wear her cloak on top of that, which only made that feeling even stronger.

A caw next to her ear reminded her of the passenger that was latched onto her shoulder. Absent-mindedly, she took out a piece of ham that she had taken from the Great Hall, and held it up for Huginn to eat. "Half-blood, pure-blood, you don't really care, do you, Huginn? I probably shouldn't, either. We'll just have to show them we're better, won't we?" she giggled when the bird gave her an affectionate nip on the ear. "Stop that. That tickles,"

Huginn gave a soft croak and nipped again. "Alright, fine, have it your way. Just don't peck too hard, okay?"

Taking out the book that she was reading earlier, she frowned. _The Standard Spellbook of Spells_ , she read its title. She had read through the first few chapters, but hadn't even tried to practice any of the spells yet. But just in case there was another teacher like Snape, perhaps it was best to get some of the spells right before coming to class.

"You know, you probably shouldn't take that raven out. It's not allowed on the school grounds,"

"Hermione," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes and standing up. The girl with the bushy brown hair was standing near her, holding a bunch of books to her chest. "We've been over this. The teachers-"

"Professors,"

"The professors," she repeated, a little annoyed, "Don't particularly care, as long as the animal's not dangerous. I've even spoken with Professor McGonagall about it, and she agrees that's the case,"

"But I haven't read it. If the rules were changed, it should be written somewhere, shouldn't it?"

"Probably. But it's not like the rule about pets is that important, anyway. Look, if Huginn is bothering you so much...go on, girl, you can fly around. Come back to me in a couple of hours, okay?"

The raven seemed to glare at Hermione, giving her a dirty look – if that was even possible for a bird. But with Cordelia telling her that she was free to fly around, Huginn stretched her wings and took off towards the woodland near Hagrid's hut.

"She misses flying. I guess this is good for her," murmured Cordelia, watching the raven circle about. "Anyway, what are you doing here? I don't think you'd be only here to tell me off about rules...right?"

"Obviously not. I wanted to talk to you about yesterday,"

"Yesterday? You mean Snape's Potions class?"

"Yes. I was wondering how you got the Boil-Cure Potion done so quickly and so well. Was there a shortcut or something?"

"No, I was only following instructions," replied Cordelia, raising an eyebrow. "It's all there in the book. You've read the book, haven't you?"

"Of course I have!" Hermione sniffed, as though slightly offended. "I've already read through the whole potions book, and I'm pretty sure that I remember everything. The potion was supposed to take about an hour to brew, but you finished in forty-five minutes. How did you do it so fast? I mean, I cut up the dried nettles and ground the snake fangs, but that already took ten minutes just to do it right,"

Cordelia stared at Hermione. "You mean you did the cutting...and the grinding?"

"Yeah. Isn't that the way you do it?"

"Hermione, we were split into pairs,"

"So? How does that affect the time it takes to make potions? It wouldn't make a difference in brewing time,"

"You're right, it doesn't. But you had to prepare the ingredients first, and that takes time," sighed Cordelia. For someone that was exceptionally bright, Hermione seemed to be completely clueless about some things that should have been obvious. "You were paired with...Padma, right? Or was it Parvati? I still can't tell the two apart sometimes,"

"I was paired with Padma,"

"Right. Did she do anything? Get the ingredients, cut the thistles, or grind up the fangs?"

"She lit the cauldron fire,"

"That doesn't take very long. Snape told me off about not having the cauldron already heated up," said Cordelia, "It's a small cauldron. Grinding up the fangs to powder took me about seven minutes. Daphne cut up the thistles and weighed the right amount, and that took about five. Which meant that we had all our ingredients in the cauldron by seven minutes,"

"But that's still...twelve...minutes..." Hermione trailed off, realising what she had missed. "Oh,"

"If you split the work as evenly as you can, you get the work done much faster. That's what my mum always said when we have to do things,"

"I suppose that does make sense. Oh, what's the book that you're holding?" Hermione said, spying the book tucked under Cordelia's arm – and then her wand. "The standard spellbook? Isn't that the textbook that we're using? Were you trying to practice?"

"Well..." hummed Cordelia, looking at the book in question, "I _was_ going to—wait, why have you got your wand out now?"

"Nobody else wants to practice on a weekend," huffed the short brown-haired girl, who was bouncing up and down excitedly, "Except you. Isn't it better to practice in groups? I think Professor McGonagall wouldn't mind if we borrowed her practice room,"

"I was going to practice outside, since I wanted some fresh air," muttered Cordelia, who wondered how exactly Hermione had gotten the idea of borrowing a teacher's practice room.

"Oh. I suppose that's even better. Let's work on some Transfiguration. I mean, that's the next class that we're supposed to have on Monday, and I really haven't gotten any practice in. I heard that it's hard to do, so-"

And so Cordelia tuned out, groaning as she cupped her face in her hands. This was definitely not what she had in mind. Hopefully, Hermione could work in silence instead of rattling off quotes from textbooks for the whole duration of their practice session. If she couldn't...well, this could possibly be the longest practice session of her life.

* * *

Harry and Ron had a nice stroll around the Hogwarts grounds. They ran across Hagrid, who invited them to morning tea. Which, evidently, was an affair that involved gigantic cups of tea and even larger, tooth-breaking rock cakes that lived up to their name. On the way back, they decided to take the long way around the Hogwarts grounds – which meant that they went past the lake.

Passing by one of the willows on the lakeside, they heard a frustrated groan from the other side. One that sounded rather like Cordelia.

"I don't get it. Why isn't it changing?" they heard her whine.

The two of them looked at each other. What was she doing behind a tree, so far away from the castle? It wasn't even like there was anything around that was remotely interesting, and it was rather chilly with how little sun there was under the huge willow trees on that side of the lake.

As they went around the corner, they noticed that there were dozens of pine cones littering the grass. Cordelia was sitting in front of one, her face scrunched in utmost concentration; some of the pine cones, Harry noticed, had become rather metallic in colour, with the slightest tinge of gold. Another had turned into a weird, jagged ball that was still wood-coloured; and yet another looked like it had been squashed into some strange flat pancake that was oddly golden.

"Maybe you're not picturing it properly. You're supposed to turn these into Christmas ornaments," Hermione said. There was a neat row of three baubles in front of her; one red, one yellow and another a sparkling blue.

"Cordelia?" Harry called out, causing both girls to jump in fright. Cordelia was the first to recover, turning around to look at who was behind her.

"Harry? Ron?" she said, a smile quirking her lips. "What are you two doing here?"

"We ran into Hagrid, and he invited us to tea. We were just coming back to the castle," Ron answered, "What are you two doing?"

"Practicing our spellwork," declared Hermione, "I mean, we can't _possibly_ get better without practice. I don't know why you two are spending so much time just lazing about. I mean, we're here to learn, aren't we?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Hermione, not everyone is so..."

"Nerdy?" Ron muttered, earning him an eyeroll from Hermione.

"Driven," finished Cordelia. "Hermione wants results. Well, marks would be a better way to put it...but yeah, results,"

"So...did it work?" Harry asked, picking up the blue bauble. He gasped when it started to shift and change colour in his hand, eventually turning back into a brown, mouldy pinecone.

"Hermione's spellwork is amazing!" Cordelia gushed, causing the brunette to blush brightly. "I mean, sure, it took maybe ten or so attempts at turning these pinecones into balls first...and we might have blown a few up by accident...but it worked! For her, at least,"

"I'm sure you can do it, Cordelia. Why don't you give it a try?" Harry said, picking up the red bauble and passing it to her.

Cordelia pursed her lips in concentration, staring intently at the bright red ball in her hand. Then, she slowly waved her wand over a pinecone. It seemed to become rounder and smoother. The scales on the outside began to shrink and come closer together; the ones next to each other began to melt and merge with each other. The mottled mouldy brown surface grew shinier and shinier, a tinge of red growing more and more solid, until it eventually formed a perfectly smooth red ball made of glass.

"Yes! I finally did it!" she cheered in delight, picking up the freshly transfigured ball in front of her and holding it side by side. Hermione's was still smoother and rounder, and her one still had a dull point at its base; but if it had been placed on a Christmas tree, nobody would ever notice.

A black blur from above swooped on the shiny ball and tackled it out of her hands. Cordelia blinked once, before looking in the direction of where the black blur had gone. Harry, Ron and Hermione were all staring dumbly at the strange sight of a large black raven wrestling with the transfigured bauble, determined to peck the proverbial ever-living daylights out of the glass ball.

"Huginn?" Cordelia said, and the raven gave an impatient caw as it pecked the ball again.

Another caw, and the raven finally righted itself, giving the ball a final peck before looking at Cordelia. However, it soon caught sight of the other, shinier spheres near Hermione, and everyone began to chuckle when it tackled the remaining yellow bauble near Hermione's feet.

"What's with that raven? It's like it can't get enough of the Christmas decorations," Ron said, barely keeping in his laughter.

"Huginn likes to steal shiny things, remember? And these are...well, the shiniest things on Hogwarts grounds at this time, I think," Cordelia giggled, "Actually, better check your pockets. Last time I let her fly in the girls' dormitory, she stole a Sickle from Padma's bedside table. I returned it, of course, but Huginn wasn't happy. You needed a bit of beef as a bribe, didn't you, you funny little thing?"

Huginn stopped wrestling with the ball and hopped on to Cordelia's shoulder. Cawing loudly, the bird gave her a soft nip on the cheek.

"Alright, that's enough. I should take you back to the castle before lunch,"

Ron's stomach gave a truly earth-shaking rumble at the mere mention of lunch. His ears flushed a bright crimson as all three of his friends looked at him in shock. "Okay. Let's make that, I need to take you back right now, before Ron passes out of hunger,"

* * *

Daphne was enjoying a well-written novel as she sat on a particularly shady spot under a tree. Beside her was one of her closest friends, Tracey Davis. Sneaking a glance, Daphne frowned, as her friend was napping with her potions spellbook covering her face. While she disapproved of such misuse of a book, her friend had the right to use the book in any way she desired. It was, after all, her own property. Even if it would be improper for any witch to disrespect the writings of the greater witches and wizards that have come before them, property was property.

Still, the title of the book reminded her unpleasantly of yesterday's events.

Potions.

It was a very important subject for a pure-blooded witch to study properly, for poisons are numerous in the games of the lords of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses. It would always be of benefit if one were to be proficient in the crafting of poisons and their antidotes, especially if one were to ascend to the position of Lord or Lady of a House, in the event that someone might have some untoward schemes targeting their family.

It had long been said that Salazar Slytherin himself was the first potions master of Hogwarts, and in being sorted into Slytherin, she had a duty to uphold that hallowed legacy of her house. To learn and excel at the fabled art of potioncrafting, as was expected of any good pure-blooded witch. Her father had even said that muggleborns – and even half-bloods – could not possibly be greater than her own kind in these endeavours. In fact, even her mother reaffirmed this notion, stating in no uncertain terms that muggleborns and half-bloods were, by nature, inferior at all the magical arts. They held no family grimoires, had no secret ancient texts to speak of; and in the case of muggleborns, no

And yet, yesterday, she was met with a curious case. That clumsy half-blood Gryffindor girl that had collided with her on the train to Hogwarts had been left without a partner. At first, she believed that she would be saddled with an incompetent, bumbling buffoon who would commit errors on every single step of the way. From what she saw of the other muggleborns and some of the half-bloods descended from lesser families, who did not know how to properly handle a knife and prepare the dried herbs, she had greatly feared that her temporary partner would be as incompetent.

To Daphne's great surprise, she proved surprisingly able. No, able would be too demeaning. Cordelia had quickly read the instructions on the blackboard, and with the insight of an experienced potioncrafter, she wrote down what she needed before going into the ingredients storeroom. This way, she acquired only the ingredients required; no more, no less. And then the girl divided the task of preparing the potion ingredients themselves! That made it so that they could get the potion's ingredient preparation done more swiftly than any of the other pairs, where one person was content on either watching what the other was doing, or watch the cauldron's water boil.

It was...efficient. Daphne could respect efficiency.

And then during the second half of the potion-brewing session, the half-blood even saved her from embarrassing herself in front of her peers. She had been, to her great shame, reading the instructions in the textbook rather absent-mindedly. She knew that the porcupine quills needed to be added prior to finishing the potion; but she had neglected to remove the potion from the heat source. Had she added the quills, the potion would have invariably exploded. She had read that a failed Boil-Cure Potion tended to cause enormous boils to any skin that came into contact, in addition to any burns caused by the scalding liquid itself. Neither was an appealing prospect.

It was...observant of her. Daphne could respect those that were observant and cautious.

And then Professor Snape had come to salvage the pride of his own house. By all rights, disregarding safety instructions should have given him reason to take away points from Slytherin, as it was her fault. But as Cordelia had prevented her from adding the critical ingredient for a cauldron meltdown by throwing her to the ground, Professor Snape had a reason to take away points from Gryffindor – no matter how unjust it was. While it did restore her damaged pride somewhat, looking at Cordelia's outraged and infuriated expression sparked something else in her.

Guilt, she supposed. That unpleasant coldness that clawed at her heart. Her laboratory partner had been nothing other than competent, and yet she took the blame for preventing an accident. To prevent any further escalation, she had given the Gryffindor girl a non-verbal warning – which, thankfully, the girl caught and understood, without raising any more fuss.

After the class, she supposed that she needed to thank the half-blood for her surprising competence. Which she did...perhaps a little too reservedly. Rather than mollifying the simmering fire that was the girl's anger, her inadequate praise had caused one of the few competent potioncrafters in the class to dislike her. Terribly so.

She shuddered at the thought of having to work with Crabbe. Or Goyle. Or worse yet, any of the other Gryffindors. The bookworm muggleborn might be somewhat competent as well, but she doubted she could get along with her. The Longbottom squib, however, was a walking disaster. And if she didn't have a partner, and no other Gryffindors would be his partner...then...

She shook her head to clear those unpleasant thoughts. Her solid, thick-walled copper cauldron was far too valuable to be exploded, melted down or otherwise damaged by a buffoon. Checking her timetable, she blanched.

The next potions class was on Monday.

She needed to repair her relationship with Cordelia before then. Perhaps she would be amenable to working with her again, assuming that the past slights and insults could be forgiven. Or better yet, forgotten entirely. The alternative – working with the Longbottom squib – was not a pleasant one.

A loud peal of laughter broke her train of thought. Turning to see where it had come from, she noticed that the Boy-Who-Lived was walking beside the youngest Weasley boy and the Gryffindor bookworm. And another girl that was wearing her robes – and a hooded cloak, with a rather large raven perched on her shoulder. The golden-red hair that was spilling from the front of the hood was the same length and colour as Cordelia's.

"Tracey," she said, closing her novel. Her sleepy friend gave a muffled grunt to indicate that she was listening. "I am about to leave for a little while. If I am not back by the time you decide to...wake up...I will be in the Great Hall for lunch,"

"Mmm...alright..." murmured her friend, turning over and ending up sleeping face-down on the potions book.

Daphne blinked and stood up. While on another day, it might be entertaining to poke fun at her, this was not the right time. She jogged over towards who she hoped was Cordelia.

"Hey Harry, we got a Slytherin coming towards us," she heard the Weasley say. Potter stopped and turned, followed by both Granger and the cloaked girl. She smiled when she saw that the cloaked girl was Cordelia; though evidently, neither Cordelia nor Granger were amused.

"Um...Hi. Do I know you?" Harry spoke uncertainly.

"No, I do not believe we've introduced ourselves properly yet," Daphne said, offering a hand. "I am Daphne Greengrass, Heiress of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass,"

Harry and Hermione both looked blankly at her. Cordelia wore an expression that hovered somewhere between caution and confusion, while Weasley openly scoffed.

"Why'd you use a formal greeting, Greengrass?" the Weasley boy said incredulously, "Keep that stuff in one of your stuffy balls at Malfoy Manor,"

Truly the epitome of eloquence, coming from a child of a fallen Ancient and Noble House.

"How charming. I assure you that I have _not_ been invited to one of these balls at Malfoy Manor," sniffed Daphne, "Father believes that I am too young to attend them yet. Still, I was hoping to make your acquaintance,"

"Right," Harry said, seemingly somewhat unconvinced, "Uh...well, I'm Harry Potter...of...House Potter? And these are my friends, Ron, Hermione and Cordelia,"

"A pleasure to meet you all," she said with a smile. When none of them returned it, she pressed on regardless. "I would love to get to know you all. Do you have any favoured pastimes? Reading, perhaps?"

"Reading? Leave that to Hermione," replied Ron brusquely. His stomach rumbled loudly. "Look, it's around lunchtime, and you're kind of holding us up. I'm starving. C'mon Harry, let's get something to eat,"

"Charming," Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes as Ron walked away.

Harry looked torn between following Ron and staying, but eventually left as well. "Sorry, Daphne, but I'll have to go as well. I'm kind of hungry too. Maybe we can talk later?"

"Perhaps later, then,"

When Harry and Ron were out of earshot, Hermione's look shifted to disapproval. "So. You're the one that made Cordelia cry,"

Now that was new. Daphne arched an eyebrow.

"I did not know this. How did I cause her to cry? Professor Snape was perhaps too harsh in Potions, but I didn't-"

"What? You thought that you would insult her further after class? Saying that her work was...just adequate?" Hermione hissed, "It was brilliant! Even my potion didn't turn out as good as that one that both of you made. Our toad still ended up having a few boils that had to be manually dispelled, and I was certain our one was the best! And you only called it _adequate_?"

If she wasn't seeing things, the raven perched on Cordelia's shoulder was glaring at her in a predatory manner. Hermione was bright red in indignant rage. The bookworm would naturally see the problem with good work going unrewarded; this was _not_ going the way she thought it would. Cordelia grasped Hermione's shoulder, making her turn around to look at the taller girl.

"Hermione. I like that you're looking out for me, but this isn't your problem," Cordelia said softly. Her jade-green eyes were now fixed on Daphne's own.

"It was a misunderstanding," Daphne said, "I was about to correct myself, but you had left before I could actually describe your work correctly. It was...exemplary. I doubt that I could do the same myself in that class, even if I tried,"

Cordelia nodded. "Thanks, I guess. But what's done is done,"

Daphne's heart dropped. What did she mean by that? Was she not forgiven?

"Just...it's only been a couple of days in Hogwarts. I thought that I'd somehow made two people mad in two days. I've just recently made up with Hermione—"

"I still don't approve of keeping a raven in the dorms, by the way," the girl butted in, glaring at Huginn. The raven cawed and promptly hopped over to Hermione's shoulder, giving her a peck on the cheek. "Ow! Hey, stop it!"

"-And it's not a nice feeling. It's too early to be making people mad. Not that it's ever okay to make people mad," continued Cordelia quietly, who was grinning at Hermione's and the raven's antics. "But what's done is done. I know, you said some rather...nasty things...about me and my family on the train. I still remember them, and they still hurt,"

"I apologise for that. It was...a little too much," Daphne replied. But as far as she was concerned, she was only standing by what her father had told her. Half-bloods and muggleborns, at that point, were beneath her notice.

"Well, at least you've apologised. That makes me feel a little bit better. Still, if we're going to be partners for potions, arguing is not going to help either of us. I had an argument with Hermione over my pet, and we've just had a pretty good time learning basic Transfiguration,"

Transfiguration. That class hadn't even started yet, and these two were learning it? Did they practice the pot—no, that couldn't be possible. They didn't have access to the potions ingredients yet.

"So, what are you suggesting?"

"I'm saying that I'd rather be friends with someone that I'm going to be working with," Cordelia said. She hesitantly offered a hand. "So...uh...friends?"

 _Friends? I have acquaintances. People that I know, but...they were never too close. And someone that I knew from childhood that always followed me around. Is that a friend?_

It was then that Daphne, for once in her life, didn't have a proper answer to a question. All the things that her father had said about blood superiority; all the things that her mother told her about maintaining a social network to further their House's goals; none of it could answer the proposition that was right in front of her.

"I suppose that is...acceptable," Daphne said, taking the hand and shaking it. Cordelia's grip was like iron; Daphne yelped when the girl's fingers came around her so hard, it felt almost her hand was going to be crushed in a vice.

"Oops. I didn't hurt you, did I?" Cordelia asked, genuine concern in her voice. Daphne shook her head, and she sighed in relief. "Okay. Good. Mum's always reminding me to be gentle when I touch someone or hold something. I was really worried that I'd hurt you without meaning to,"

Then, something that she totally did not expect happened. Cordelia threw her arms around Daphne, pulling her into a tight hug – even giving her a slight rub on the back – before she disentangled herself. "So I guess that's that, then. We'd better join Harry and Ron before they finish all the food. I'll see you around, Daphne!"

Daphne, being unfamiliar to close contact by anyone, had simply stood there after Cordelia had hugged her. Was she supposed to return that gesture? She didn't know. It was unbecoming of a well-brought-up heiress of an Ancient and Noble House to greet others in ways that were neither a handshake or a polite bow. But the close contact had left her cheeks burning, and her heart was beating somewhat quickly; an unfamiliar warmth had pushed itself into her mind. Was that supposed to happen?

* * *

A/N:

FLOOFY! Amp it up to 9001!

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. This is meant to expose the other side of the blood supremacy myth; it's propagated from parent to child, almost every generation. In actuality, it's just a way to ensure that inherited wealth and power remains in the hands of the pureblood noble faction. See how the Wizengamot is structured. What would happen when a contradiction is presented to a child is a coin toss. A child who is not inclined to think for themselves (e.g. Draco) is less likely to reconcile reality vs. expectations, whereas those that are more capable might think otherwise.

As usual, feel free to comment or ask questions. I will get to them as best as I can. Thanks for reading!

Dragon Man 180:

Exploding potions may be an interesting idea, but her mother is...well, let's just say that there really shouldn't be any reason why her daughter should need an explosive. As for Fluffy, I think Amanda might be keen to get a DNA sample as much as she would be keen on protecting her daughter.

Bob of the A:

It's important to note that children's behaviour are often determined by what their parents keep telling them. When they are subjected to something that contradicts what their parents have told them, it can cause quite a bit of chaos with how they react.


	8. 08 - Broomsticks are Not for Cleaning

"Broomsticks?"

"Yes, broomsticks,"

"But...broomsticks are for sweeping floors...aren't they?" Cordelia asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow.

Both of the girls were completely nervous when they saw the notice in the Gryffindor common room that flying lessons were to begin on Thursday. At first, Cordelia had wondered what on Earth would wizards use to fly with. Saturday morning cartoons and the odd comic that she found showed wizards flying around using flying carpets or some such, or otherwise flying using their own abilities. Halloween did, of course, show witches using their broomsticks to fly about; but to the young witch, such an idea was completely incomprehensible. How could someone use something so... _ordinary_...to fly?

And then when she had asked Ron about the matter over lunch on Sunday, the boy looked at her as though she had grown another head. "Mate," he gasped, "How do you not know that wizards and witches use broomsticks? I mean, it's what they use for Quidditch!"

Cue in another moment when neither Hermione nor Cordelia were aware of what Quidditch even was, and Ron's jaw dropped. He muttered, "Mental, both of you, I swear. Quidditch is _the_ greatest game ever!"

So he launched into a long-winded explanation about how Quidditch used broomsticks to fly players around at _very_ high speeds and rather high altitudes, throwing and catching balls while dodging other balls that were out to smack anyone that went too close. The two girls had tuned out soon after he had started explaining the game to them, but the combination of flying at heights – with nothing between them and the ground except a flimsy broom – did little to make them feel better. In fact, if anything, both of them regretted ever asking Ron anything at all.

"...So anyway, that's Quidditch for you. Isn't it exciting?"

"Sure is, Ron," Cordelia responded, somewhat dazed. "Wow. I...think I need to go outside and get some fresh air. Hermione, would you want to come with me?"

"Yes, that sounds like a terrific idea,"

"Oh, alright then. Say, would you mind if me and Harry came along? You know, cause we don't have much more to do,"

Cordelia blanched. That was _definitely_ not the plan. Harry was alright, as he was quiet enough and tended to listen for most of the time – but she really needed to get away from Ron. At least, for a while. Then, remembering Ron's dislike for books and study in general, she quickly said, "Okay. I was thinking of practicing some more transfiguration outside. If you want to, you can come along-"

"Studying? I was thinking of having some fun outside. It's the weekend, Cordelia; shouldn't you, you know...be resting, or something? I mean, you already did some practice on transfiguration yesterday,"

"Studying is effective use of time. Some practice does sound lovely, Cordelia," Hermione said with a slight smirk, catching on to what Cordelia was planning. As expected, Ron gaped at them, flabbergasted, before throwing up his arms and marching out of the Great Hall while muttering something about 'insane witches'.

"Well, so much for Ron," Cordelia muttered, "Harry, what about you? Would you like to come along?"

"Er—well, I guess I would. But I left my wand upstairs, in my dorm,"

"Oh. What a shame. I guess next time, then?"

* * *

"Right. So. Flying,"

"Yes. Flying indeed. These books don't exactly inspire confidence,"

Both Cordelia and Hermione were ashen-faced after they had read through a stack of books on flying, Quidditch – and any other magical means of travel that involved a flimsily-made object suspending oneself between the cold, hard ground and the air. The sheer number of accidents and the rather painful ways that people have been injured by falling or colliding with people, buildings or other objects – such as the immovable ground far below the flyer – had done little to reassure either of them about the safety of flying on a broomstick.

"O-okay. I-I think that's quite enough," Cordelia muttered, putting a book on Quidditch accidents back into the pile in front of them. "How did they...ugh...how did they even think this was safe?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's just things that have happened in the past? I mean, most of the injuries were caused by Bludgers in Quidditch, and there's only been a few cases of people who fell off their brooms and got seriously injured. In any case, I do think that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have a flying class if it wasn't safe for even first years. It can't be _that_ bad,"

Thinking back to the first Potions class, Cordelia shuddered. "Let's hope that it isn't,"

And so the days flew by until that particular day that the two had been dreading. Ron and Harry had been animatedly talking about broomsticks, Quidditch and flying in general, and how excited they were to try it out for themselves. In fact, almost all of the boys – and many of the girls – were excited to be learning how to fly on their own broomsticks. It also didn't help that some of the Slytherins, particularly one Draco Malfoy, had been loudly proclaiming his expertise in the matter to all and sundry. Whether it was true or not, Cordelia had no idea; but she was terrified of making a fool of herself in front of the class. Or worse yet, falling off the broomstick from a great height.

Just for the day of the class, though, Ron was wearing a Chudley Cannons T-shirt under his robes. "For good luck," he said, when Cordelia asked. That was certainly reassuring, considering that the team had apparently lost every single match in the season.

Gryffindors' spirits had been rather high, until they had learned that they would be learning how to ride their broomsticks alongside Slytherin in their first class.

"I really don't want to make a fool of myself in front of Malfoy," Harry said darkly.

"You don't know if you'll actually do that, mate," Ron said, slapping his back, "Anyway, Malfoy's always bragging about how good he is at Quidditch, but I reckon it's all talk. Who puts someone our age in a Quidditch team, anyway?"

"Let's hope that he's all talk. I can't stand him," Cordelia agreed, eyeing Malfoy from the corner of her eyes. As usual, he and his two cronies were swaggering at the head of the Slytherin bunch.

The teacher, Madam Hooch, so greatly resembled a hawk that Cordelia was certain that Huginn would likely have a panic attack at the sight of her. Her short, grey hair was frazzled, and her piercing eyes were a bright yellow. She even had a slightly large nose even gave off the impression of a beak; and if she wasn't seeing things, even her robes had a slight wedge-shaped tail to it.

Nevertheless, she was certainly organised; before the class had even arrived, there were a set of twenty or so broomsticks on the grass, all laid out in two neat rows. Cordelia noticed that some of the brooms didn't appear to be in particularly good condition. Unlike the sleek-tailed, well-polished ones that she had seen in Quidditch books and magazines, these ones looked as though they would not be out of place in a medieval broom cupboard. Some had chunks missing from the tail, and others had bits chipped out of their polish. One even had 'JP loves LE' etched into its handle.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Madam Hooch barked, startling the students. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!"

They all scrambled to the nearest broomstick that hadn't been taken. Cordelia regarded her broomstick nervously. It was an ancient thing, with barely a scrap of polish left on its scarred and scratched surface. Twigs stuck out at odd angles, some of them bent and broken.

"Stick your right hand over the broom, and say UP!"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom leapt into his hand. So did Daphne's, and a couple of other Gryffindors and Slytherins that Cordelia hadn't talked to yet. Her own broom only did a feeble hop before rolling around on the ground, which was only slightly better than Hermione's effort. To her amusement, so did many of the others that had claimed to be experts at flying.

After repeated attempts, all of them had gotten their brooms in hand. Madam Hooch then showed them how to hold it in a way that wouldn't cause them to slip and slide while in the air. Malfoy, again, had to have his grip corrected. Apparently, he had been doing it wrong for years, much to Harry and Ron's delight.

Now came the time for the fun – or to some, terrifying – part. "When I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch, surveying the two rows of students in front of her, "Keep your brooms steady. Rise up a few feet, but no higher. Come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle; three...two...one—Come back, boy!"

Neville, with his terrible fear of flying, had kicked off early. And kicked off hard, judging by how fast he was ascending. In seconds, he had soared at least thirty feet off the ground; the boy's face was pale as he stared downwards. His hands slipped. His body started to list to one side.

Crunch.

Neville had fallen onto the grass. He lay face-down in a heap; his broomstick was rising higher and higher, drifting towards the Forbidden Forest and out of sight. Madam Hooch was instantly at his side, her face as white as the boy's.

"Broken wrist. Come on, boy, it's all right. Up you get," she muttered. Turning to the class, she fixed them all with a glare. "None of you are to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing. You leave those brooms exactly as they are, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear,"

Neville, with tears leaking down his face and clutching at his limp wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch. When the two had disappeared into the castle, Malfoy started to laugh.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Some of the other Slytherins also joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" mocked Pansy Parkinson. The girl's face wore a disdainful sneer. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati,"

"Look!" Malfoy said. He darted forward to where Neville had fallen and snatched something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him,"

It was the little glass ball that Neville called a 'Remembrall'. It glittered in the sun in Malfoy's hand.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone fell silent and began to watch the two.

"No. I think I'll leave it somewhere that Longbottom can find. How about...up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had taken a broomstick and kicked off the ground. He was now hovering above the tree line.

"Come and get it, Potter!"

"Harry, don't!" shouted Hermione, "Madam Hooch told us all not to move, you'll get us all into trouble!"

Not that her words meant much to Harry. The boy snatched up a broomstick and kicked off after Malfoy. Like a bullet, he zoomed towards the blond Slytherin boy, missing by only mere inches. "No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," called out Harry.

Realisation struck the blond, it seemed, as his sneer turned into a frown. "Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, throwing the ball high into the air before streaking back down to the ground. Gasps came from every Gryffindor present as Harry raced after the ball at breakneck speeds, flattening himself against the broomstick and stretching out his hand to catch the ball. Just as it was about to smash against the ground, he snatched it up and rolled safely off the broom and onto the grass.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Cordelia shuddered as she recalled that voice. The voice of Gryffindor's head of house. Professor McGonagall, who had been walking on a nearby path – and likely saw everything – was sweeping towards them. Her lips were drawn so tightly that Cordelia thought that they had disappeared.

"Never, in all my time at Hogwarts...you could've injured yourself...broken your neck...how dare you!"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor," chipped in Parvati.

"Be quiet, Miss Patil,"

"But Malfoy-"

"That's quite enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter. Follow me. Now," she said curtly.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle all smiled triumphantly as Harry was led back into the castle by an irate Professor McGonagall. A bit of Cordelia was urging her to punch the three of them in the jaw; they were little better than Dudley and his crew, always picking on those that couldn't defend themselves. A hand laid itself on her shoulder; Hermione, shaking her own head, was looking down at her hand.

"Oh," murmured Cordelia. She had unknowingly clenched her fist so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"Don't. You'll get into trouble," Hermione muttered.

By that point, Madam Hooch had returned. She noticed that Harry was no longer there, but nevertheless continued with her lesson after some of them said that Professor McGonagall had taken him away. All of them soon learned how to fly their brooms adequately well; they could hover, and they could move forward and backward slowly. Eventually, they were led to fly around at low speed, following Madam Hooch as she flew a wide circle around the castle courtyard about fifty feet above the ground. Cordelia had to admit, it wasn't as bad as it looked. The broom was sturdy enough, despite its age. Sure, it leant slightly to the left, and it always seemed to slow down at random moments; but she was flying and keeping up with the rest of the class without many issues. She could almost get used to this; her hair whipping in the wind, the feeling of air rushing past her ears, and the warm sun on her face. She closed her eyes and-

Crack.

She felt an odd sensation of slowing down (in moving forwards) and a terrible, terrible sinking feeling. Her eyes snapped open. In her hand was the front half of the broomstick; she saw what looked like the rear end fly past in front of her. Was that the castle rising up really fast, or was she...falling? At a rather high speed?

She yelped as her boots suddenly made contact with the grassy earth and sent up a little dust cloud. "Miss Flynn! Are you alright?" Madam Hooch called out, landing in front of her with concern in her eyes.

"I...think so? Nothing hurts," Cordelia said, raising an eyebrow. She tried to lift her leg but...nothing happened. "Wait. Why can't I move my legs? And why are you so...tall?"

Madam Hooch grimaced. "That would be because you've somehow gotten half your legs into the ground. Come on, girl, let's get you out of there and see if anything's broken,"

* * *

Dinner that day was rather eventful at the Gryffindor table, at least among the first years. Most of the young ones were talking about how awesome flying was; though Hermione, there were other things on her mind.

"...So are you saying that you fell fifty feet from the air, landed on hard, dry ground, went almost a foot into the ground...and you didn't break anything?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cordelia simply nodded. "Yep. That's pretty much what happened," She then looked at her feet and pouted. Her usual ankle-length boots were unsalvageable after that fall, having been ripped to shreds on impact. "I'm going to have to ask dad again about some new boots,"

"And you said that you didn't use any magic to soften the fall?" Ron asked, his eyes looking as though they'd pop out of his head at any moment.

"I didn't have my wand on me at the time,"

"How? I mean, how'd you not break anything? Merlin, you barely even had a bruise! Neville fell from much lower than that, and he broke a wrist!"

Cordelia hesitated. Her mother had made it quite clear that nobody was to know about _how_ she came to be. The magicals wouldn't understand the least bit of biosciences, so it was likely safe to tell Ron. The boy would likely just shrug it off as 'muggle weirdness', or even just a tall tale. But Hermione was a muggleborn witch – a particularly bright one at that, and one that would research everything if she even got so much as a word of a topic that she didn't know back to front. Cordelia knew exactly why she was unharmed. Her reinforced skeletal structure and hyper-dense muscle tissue likely meant that she took that fall without breaking anything.

But an unmodified, naturally-born human couldn't possibly take that fall without severely injuring themselves. She needed an excuse. "Accidental magic...I think?" she responded slowly. Ron blinked once, but the steak and kidney pie appearing on his plate soon captured his attention. Hermione, however, narrowed her eyes at Cordelia.

"You know that when we have a wand, it becomes nearly impossible for us to do accidental magic," Hermione said, "And I'm fairly certain that nobody knows how to cast the Softening Charm in our year just yet. I mean, it's there in the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ , but we haven't even finished covering basic magical theory yet in Charms class!"

Inwardly, Cordelia groaned. She should have known that a bookworm would find holes in any excuse that she could throw out. "Well, that's what I think it was!" she exclaimed. Mercifully, a steak appeared on her plate at that instant. "Anyway, I'm really starving right now, and the steak looks really, really delicious. Can we talk about this later?"

Hermione glared at her. "Fine. But we will talk later. I want to know exactly how you made that fall without breaking anything,"

* * *

A/N:

Some people are born to fly. Others, not so much. Cordelia plus broom = flying + broken broom = falling to the ground like a falling meteorite.

The-Only-Temporary-Name: Time will tell. If I told people what was or what was not happening, I'd be spoiling it, wouldn't I? :P

KyuubiNoPuma: Yep. Although considering that twins generally ended up in the same house, I decided to just shove Parvati and Padma into Gryffindor. Makes for less hassle that way, remembering who goes into which house.

Bob of the A: Yeah, the mindset of children is very, very different from adults. That being said, writing an 11-year-old's character with a mature viewpoint is...immersion breaking. Different characters should have different perspectives, voices, aspirations etc.

Dragon Man 180: It's important to note that Daphne's motivation is, at this point, still very much selfish. Her motive for befriending Cordelia was more for her own benefit, and she couldn't care less about Hermione at this stage. Nor Ron, nor Harry. It's all about her (as long as the others don't know it). Daphne has no reason to laugh openly at Malfoy, as "what happens in Slytherin, stays in Slytherin" - no Slytherin openly attacks or insults another Slytherin, so insulting Malfoy alongside two Gryffindors is still out of the question unless the first insult was thrown by Malfoy and was directed at her. This also extends to the troll attack on Halloween. What motivation would Daphne have to save Hermione from the troll in the toilet? At this point, it'd be highly unlikely - but we will see how things will progress as time goes on.

Working together to achieve better marks, however, is entirely possible.

As usual, feel free to leave me questions/comments etc. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
-ArcturusWolf


	9. 09 - A Midnight Escapade

Cordelia had decided to excuse herself early after dinner to find some peace and quiet from Hermione's incessant pestering. Not that it worked, though, as the bookish girl had decided to follow her up to the Gryffindor common room.

"Hermione. I've told you before, it's probably – just – accidental – magic," Cordelia sighed, after insisting for what seemed to be the hundredth time that her fall was broken by magic.

"That doesn't explain how you got half-buried in the ground! A Softening Charm makes you bounce, because it essentially turns something into rubber, and you didn't bounce. A Hardening Charm can't be applied to people or animals. You hit the ground hard enough to put a crater into dry ground with grass on top!" Hermione retorted, waving her arms wildly over her head. "And you didn't take so much as a scratch doing that!"

"You've already gone over these many times, Hermione. It's probably just accidental magic! Pig snout,"

The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and allowed the two of them access to the Gryffindor tower. To Cordelia's dismay, there was already a particular pair of red-headed twins inside the tower, looking at the contents of a box on a table while sharing a crooked grin with each other. Apparently, however, Hermione was making such a terrible noise that they were nearly instantly aware of the presence of the first year girls. The boys spun around, smiling impishly at them.

"Look, Fred, ickle firsties!"

"By Merlin, George, you've got a good eye. Or ear,"

"Yep! Ickle firsties, back up so soon from dinner?"

"No more ice-cream? Did they run out?"

"Ice cream is too sweet for me," Cordelia muttered, as she brushed past Fred. Or George, she didn't quite know who was who when they weren't wearing jumpers with the first letter of their names on it.

"And for the record, the last I saw was that your brother was inhaling all the ice cream at the Gryffindor table," Hermione sniffed, recalling with disgust that particular Weasley's lack of table manners.

"That sounds much like our brother,"

"Uncannily so. It must be him!"

"Well, he does bring shame to our family name like that,"

"More than we do, brother!"

What do you think, Fred? Should we give him a prank?"

"Do you even really need to ask, George?"

"OF COURSE WE WILL!"

The two of them packed the box and marched out of the tower, cackling in laughter the whole way out.

"Alright. Now, maybe, I can get something done," huffed Cordelia, taking in the sight of the empty common room. "I'm going to get some textbooks and study some charms before tomorrow's lesson. Would you like to study with me?"

Now that managed to silence Hermione. "Study with you? For Charms? Sure-"

"I'll do it, but I can't study if you keep asking me about what happened earlier,"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "Oh, all right. I suppose it doesn't matter anyway. It's just that I was so curious about how you managed to do something like that,"

All that just for curiosity? Cordelia gawked at her in mixed horror and outrage. "Really? All that...pestering...was just because you were _curious_?"

The brown-haired girl chewed on her lip. "Yes," she admitted, "I mean, I want to know everything about magic!"

"You're unbelievable," muttered Cordelia, shaking her head. "Let's just get to studying. Get changed into something more comfortable than these robes so we can just go to sleep once we're done,"

A few hours later, they found themselves alone in the common room on the couch in the corner. One of the senior students had been kind enough to put a silencing and disillusionment charm around their studying spot. Some of the magical theory had been confusing, but between the two of them, it had been a rather productive evening. Several rolls of parchment, full of completed assignments and tasks, littered the table in front of them.

"It's getting a bit chilly. Shouldn't we go to bed?" Cordelia asked, shivering slightly. The fireplace in the common room was by now almost just embers, and the only lighting in the room was the lantern in front of them.

"We're nearly done," Hermione replied, checking the ancient grandfather clock on the other side. It was thirty minutes to midnight. "We have thirty minutes,"

"Thirty minutes? I'm going to get a blanket, then,"

Moments later, Cordelia reappeared with a spare blanket that she took from her bed. She plopped back down into the couch again, making sure that it covered both of them. "That's better. Now, what did Professor McGonagall say again about...what was it? Transfiguring a pencil to a quill and back again?"

A sudden shuffling noise caught their attention. There was the light of a lantern coming down from the boys' dormitory. At first, both of them thought that it was just a prefect making his rounds. But when Harry showed up in his bathrobes, with Ron in tow no less, she wondered what they were up to.

"Wait. That's Harry and Ron," Hermione whispered, looking at her, "What are they doing out of bed – and...oh, stupid boys!"

She stood up and marched towards them. "Just what are you doing out of bed?" demanded Hermione. The two of them nearly jumped, startled by Hermione's sudden appearance. To them, she had appeared out of a corner with an abandoned lantern that was nearly burnt out; and following her was Cordelia, who also seemingly appeared from the shadows.

"Really. Just what do the two of you think you're doing?" Hermione demanded again, when neither of the boys would answer. This time, however, the boys walked towards the portrait hole leading out of the common room. "We're not supposed to be walking around in the corridors after ten! It's on the rules,"

"Stuff the rules! If we need to go somewhere, we're going," Ron snapped at her, making Hermione flinch. The portrait swung open, and the boys left.

"You shouldn't go walking around outside! Are you two even listening?" Hermione called out. She strode out of the room after the boys, determined to make them reconsider going out of the Gryffindor tower after dark. "Don't either of you care about Gryffindor?"

Before Cordelia could say anything, the portrait swung closed after Hermione had left. She looked at the stacks of parchment on the table, and the dying lamp near it. The inkwells and quills that they had been using still lay there. A part of her said that she should remain behind and clean up the mess before the following morning; but another part of her shouted that she should not leave one of her friends wandering the corridors on her own at night.

Eventually, the desire to make sure that all of them returned safely won out. "Boys," she grumbled, wondering what exactly had possessed Ron and Harry that they would decide to wander outside at night.

The portrait swung open again once she knocked, but once she was outside – and the portrait had closed again – she realised that there was a problem. A rather big problem.

The Fat Lady was no longer on the portrait.

Which meant that the door could only be opened from inside.

"Great. Just great," hissed Cordelia, looking around for where either of them could have gone. Down the hallway she went, down a staircase. She saw a ghost floating past on the fifth floor of the great staircase. That would not do, as the ghosts could tell teachers about students breaking rules. So she opted to walk into a side passage on the sixth floor, only to run into yet _another_ ghost that was talking to three people in paintings.

"I can't go there," she muttered, looking around for another way around. Spotting a tapestry, she gently lifted it up. There was a hidden passageway – or rather, a sloped tunnel – leading downwards. How far it went, she didn't know; but with another silvery ghost coming towards her, she had no other way to go. She jumped in, sliding down the bumpy and twisting tunnel. It seemed to go on and on; twisting, turning, tumbling her around. More than once, she was thrown against the ceiling, only to come back down onto the floor or walls with great force.

"Oof!" she grunted, rolling ungracefully to a stop at the end of the tunnel. Rubbing her sore backside, she stood up and took a look around, not knowing exactly where she had landed. Or how far she had gone down, to be honest. The torches didn't illuminate much at all where she was, but at least there were no ghosts or paintings to be seen.

There was little light at all, and Cordelia walked slowly to make sure that she didn't knock over anything. There were suits of armour all over the place in Hogwarts – a castle was a castle, after all, and could not be complete without them – but a suit of armour falling to the ground would cause a _lot_ of noise. Noise that would attract teachers, prefects and who knew what else.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" she heard a horrible voice screech. Cordelia froze, thinking that maybe she had been spotted; but a quick look over her shoulder showed that nothing was around her. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Charms corridor? On the third floor? That voice sounded like it came from the floor below. Or was it above? It was hard to tell in a stone castle. The voice kept on shouting, as loud as loud could be; Cordelia dashed as far away from the voice as possible and then flattened herself against the wall behind a suit of armour, eyes darting from side to side. She felt a doorframe to her right, but to what room it was, she didn't know.

As luck would have it, a group of people burst out from her left. She caught sight of a blur of bushy brown hair, a mop of messy black hair – and a shock of flaming red. Even in the dim light, she could tell who they were. "Harry? Hermione? Ron?" she whispered.

The three of them – well, _four_ , once she saw Neville behind the three of them – were panting heavily, and were flushed. "Cordelia? What are you doing?" Harry asked, just noticing the girl that was hidden behind a suit of armour.

"Never mind that! Just get this door open before Filch catches us!" Ron hissed, looking nervously over his shoulder. Sure enough, the shadow of Hogwarts' caretaker was now visible on the wall on the far side of the corridor.

Giving it a try, Harry cried out, "It's locked!"

"Oh, move over!" snarled Hermione. She took out her wand, tapped the lock and whispered, "Alohomora!"

A soft click came from the lock, and the five of them piled through the door, closing it as quietly behind them as they could. They all pressed themselves close against the door, straining their ears to hear whatever was happening on the other side.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch spoke, "Quick, tell me,"

"Say 'please'!"

"Don't give me that, Peeves. Now, tell me. Where did they go?"

The poltergeist, it seemed, had a penchant for annoying literally everyone, and not just students. In a mocking, sing-song voice, he chanted, "Shan't say nothing if you don't say please,"

Grumbling, the caretaker caved in. "Alright. Please. Now, where did they go?"

"NOTHING! Ha! Told you I'd say 'nothing' if you said 'please'!"

Filch cursed like a sailor, at a volume that would have likely woken up all of Gryffindor if he had done it on the seventh floor. His cursing, however, grew quieter and quieter, until at last they couldn't hear it any more.

"Alright. I think he's gone – Neville, get off me!"

Cordelia felt herself get pushed back. Neville was on her right, backing away from something. "Lumos," she whispered, and her wand lit up with a bright white light as she turned around.

Which reflected from slobber-covered fangs that were barely inches away from them. "Ah...ah..." she stammered, backing away from the creature in front of her. It was a giant three-headed dog, its gaping maw dripping drool. Its six eyes were roving over the first-year students, as though it were surveying its next snack and determining how to best eat them. All three of its massive, snot-coated noses were sniffing in their direction.

Its thunderous growls could only mean one thing. Harry, deciding that he would rather have detention with Filch and losing house points over being eaten by a giant three-headed dog, yanked the door open and bolted, with the other four hot on his heels.

The journey back to the top was far quicker than expected, with the portraits along the way looking strangely at the sweaty, panting students as they made their way to the Gryffindor tower. "Where on Earth have you all been?" the Fat Lady asked, raising an eyebrow as she took in the state of their dishevelled bathrobes.

"Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout," Harry panted. The Fat Lady fumed at not having her question answered, but otherwise swung her portrait open.

All of them collapsed into the armchairs that were in the common room. Neville's face was pale as a sheet, and he was chewing on his lips so hard that one could almost see teeth marks on them.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Ron finally said. "If any dog needs exercise, that one really needs it!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she snapped at Ron. "You don't use your eyes, do you?" And then, turning to the others, she also snarled at them, "Or any of you? Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"It's kind of hard to look at the floor when you've got its mouth just right in front of you, you know," countered Harry.

"It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something," Hermione said, standing up. "I hope that you're pleased with yourselves. We could've been killed. Or worse, _expelled._ Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed,"

She stalked off into the girls' dormitory. Cordelia shook her head and looked at the table in the corner. The parchment rolls containing hers and Hermione's assignments still lay on top of it. "Well, I guess I better clean this up and go to sleep as well. Why were you two going out at night, anyway? And Neville, too?"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, not you too, Cordelia- it's none of your business!" snapped Ron.

"I was only asking, Ron. If you won't tell me, I don't really care. Good night, _boys_ ," she snapped back, surprised and vexed by how rudely Ron had responded. She closed the inkwells and then scooped up everything on the table into her arms, marching up the stairs after Hermione.

In the girls' dormitory, she found Hermione already in her bed, tossing and turning while grumbling under her breath. Still somewhat curious about what had possessed the boys to go out in curfew hours, she set down the rolls of parchment and poked her head in under the curtains of Hermione's bed.

"Hermione, you don't mind if I talk to you, do you?" Cordelia asked. When the girl in question shook her head, Cordelia sat down on the foot of her bed. "What's gotten into Ron and Harry? I mean, why would they even go out like that? The prat even snapped at me when I asked him about it-"

"Who? Ron?"

"Yeah. I was only asking a question, and he just...snapped,"

"That really does sound a lot like Ron. Well, they said that they were challenged to a duel by Draco Malfoy. And the stupid boys actually accepted it!" hissed Hermione, sitting up bolt upright at the memory of the boys' sheer idiocy. Cordelia blinked when she noticed that the fuming girl's nose was literally touching hers; it was a miracle that they did not end up headbutting each other. Still, what she had just heard left her utterly stunned.

"Okay. That really _is_ a stupid reason. Seriously? Duelling? Ron can't even cast a proper _flipendo_ yet, let alone a full-powered _stupefy,_ " declared Cordelia, moving her head back from Hermione. "You know what, I think I'm going to take a shower first. I don't think I can sleep like this,"

"That actually doesn't sound like a bad idea," Hermione agreed, shifting off her bed and collecting a towel and a box of toiletries from her trunk.

Later, as both girls relaxed in the showers, Cordelia's mind wandered to what she had seen and heard earlier. Draco Malfoy luring both Ron and Harry out of Gryffindor tower was worrying. She disliked the self-important ponce in every single class that she had the misfortune of attending with him; the boy was arrogant, condescending to those of 'lesser' families, and was outright demeaning to those of non-magical parentage. This, however...encouraging others to break rules just for his amusement...it was worrying to her. And the way that Ron and Harry would so readily accept a duel worried her even more. She had thought them to be nice young wizards - a little uncouth, and a little rough around the edges, perhaps - but never would she think that in the first month of attending Hogwarts, they would attempt to engage in a duel.

That seemed a little extreme, after all. Sure, there were insults being thrown by both sides, and Malfoy was a decidedly unpleasant fellow, both in words and actions. But did that really mean that they had to fight each other already? Memories of throwing Dudley's gang off Harry came to mind, and she hoped that she didn't have to do that again here.

She felt a little dismay about how they just couldn't all get along, but that thought quickly died away when the shower's hot water suddenly shut off. Judging by Hermione's surprised yelp from the other stall, it happened to her as well; at least she had actually finished and was just in there to soak a bit more. "Looks like even the school wants us to go to sleep. Come on, Hermione, I'll help you dry your hair,"

* * *

A/N:

A bit of a fillerish chapter here, before the big bathroom smashing event that is Halloween.

Dragon Man 180: Yeah, that might be a logical conclusion: skateboard - wheels + hover runes = hoverboard. Flitwick might see it as a curiosity, though I think Arthur Weasley might have a bone to pick with him over 'muggle artifact enchantment'. *looks at enchanted car* ...hmm, pot calling kettle black, there!


	10. 10 - Halloween

"I don't believe those two," hissed Hermione to Cordelia over breakfast.

The latter raised an eyebrow before she traced Hermione's gaze to Ron and Harry. Both boys had bags under their eyes, evidence of their midnight escapade; but they also were laughing and joking to each other, as though nothing wrong had happened. In fact, it even looked as though they were entertained by what had happened last night!

"Just how can they be so casual about it? We ran into a giant three-headed dog, close enough for it to bite, and they're laughing about it? We could've lost so many house points for trespassing in a forbidden room!"

"And we could have been bitten," added Cordelia, more intent on finishing her scrambled eggs than listening to Hermione rant about Harry and Ron. True, both of them were a little hot-headed and they could be a bit foolish, but they were still her friends. Hearing a friend rant about other friends hurt her more than she thought. She'd have to find _some_ way of fixing this, somehow. Maybe when all of them have cooled down a little.

"Morning Cordelia," Harry said, echoed quietly by Ron. Neither of them so much as acknowledged Hermione as they passed by and sat on the other side of the table. Cordelia sighed and cradled her face. It truly looked like the start of a horrible, horrible week. Something that looked ever closer to coming true, considering that all of them ate without speaking a single word to each other.

At least the morning owls provided a welcome distraction. Cordelia received another set of seven nutrient potions, as she normally did. But what really amazed her was the long and thin package that was laid down in front of Harry, carried by six rather large screech owls – right on top of his plate, and knocking out the bacon that he had placed on it.

A seventh owl dumped a letter on top of the package. Harry picked it up and ripped the envelope open. Out of curiosity, Cordelia craned her neck to get a glimpse of what that letter said.

 _DO NOT OPEN THIS PARCEL AT THE TABLE_

 _It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing that you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session._

 _Professor McGonagall_

Cordelia doubted Harry's smile could get any wider. He passed the note to Ron, whose expression cycled from curiosity to disbelief, and then to manic amusement. "A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously, "I've never even touched one,"

The two boys quickly left the hall, package in hand. Hermione, mystified by what had just happened, tugged on Cordelia's sleeve. "Cordelia, what did that letter say? What was that package?"

"I don't believe it, Hermione," she whispered back, "Professor McGonagall. She sent Harry a broomstick,"

Hermione blinked. "What?" she said, "No, you've got to be joking. Professor McGonagall sent him that?"

"Yes, apparently,"

"But what for? It's used for Quidditch..."

Hermione trailed off, realising the answer. Her face fell. "McGonagall took Harry away after he broke the rules in the Flying class. He saved Neville's Remembrall after a really dangerous dive. We didn't see him again until that evening...and he looked very, very happy for some reason. Did he...no, that can't be right. But there's no other reason why he could have gotten that broomstick!"

She burst into tears. "Hermione?!" Cordelia said quickly, alarmed by her friend's sudden change in mood. Several other students stopped to look at them, wondering what on earth had just happened. Gently, she lifted Hermione to her feet. "Hermione, this isn't like you. What's wrong?"

"It's just—It's just..."

More and more eyes were staring at them. Cordelia gritted her teeth and squeezed Hermione's shoulder a little more. "Alright. You can tell me, I won't tell anyone else. I promise. But can we get out of the Great Hall first? People are staring,"

The shorter girl nodded and the two of them left as quickly as they could. As they entered the entrance hall, they noticed that Malfoy and his two goons were slinking away back towards the Slytherin dungeons. Harry and Ron were on the staircase leading up, grins on their faces as they watched the Slytherins' retreating backs.

That was the last straw for Hermione. "So I suppose that you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" she snarled, stomping up the stairs, "And rubbing it in other students' faces, as well? Don't you feel any shame about what you did?"

"Truthfully, no," Harry said, "I mean, Malfoy started all of this. I'm just getting back at him,"

"And it was so worth seeing that blond git's face after that," snickered Ron.

Hermione, incensed by their utter disregard for rules, stormed away with her nose held high in the air. To her, if they were not going to work as a team with the rest of the house, then they were not worth helping at all.

The rest of the day was rather difficult for Cordelia. Hermione would pretend to not notice Ron and Harry, while they in turn tried to seek help in classes from Cordelia. Being wedged in between the feuding friends proved to be immensely problematic for her. It was impossible to talk to Hermione about classwork without noticing that both sides were ignoring each other, while answering either Harry's or Ron's questions would result in Hermione glaring at her for helping people that the rule-abiding girl considered rulebreakers. Both would make snide remarks at each other, leaving her with one ear full of off-handed insults against Hermione, and the other full of those intended for Ron and Harry.

This continued throughout the entire week, leaving her patience worn incredibly thin. Her ears could only sustain so much verbal assault, after all, even if it wasn't directed at herself.

Things eventually came to a head on Halloween morning, when not even the delicious smells wafting throughout the castle corridors could quell her pent-up fury. Unable to concentrate in Charms class with both sides shooting glares and thinly-veiled insults at each other and her being in the middle, she looked around for another empty spot that she could move to. The Slytherins mostly occupied one side of the classroom, with Gryffindor occupying the other. The only spare seat on the Gryffindor side was next to her, and it was still between Hermione, Ron and Harry. Moving there would not achieve anything. And the other empty seat was on the Slytherin side. Right next to-

For once that week, luck was on her side. Daphne was sitting in the far back of the classroom, with nobody else beside her.

"Miss Flynn! What are you doing?" Professor Flitwick asked, noticing that Cordelia had suddenly stood up after slamming her spellbook shut.

"Sorry, Professor. I just need to find another seat before I lose my temper," Cordelia spoke, perhaps a little harshly. Ron, Hermione and Harry all looked at her in disbelief. It irked her even more when she realised that they had absolutely no clue about _why_ she was so upset with all three of them.

Flitwick raised an eyebrow, but otherwise made no comment as she stalked off towards Daphne. "Daphne, you won't mind if I sit here?" she asked – no, _demanded_. Consequences be damned, she needed to sit somewhere else before she lost her temper entirely.

Daphne's eyes looked slightly towards her Slytherin classmates. They were looking at her and Cordelia, watching every move closely. The Gryffindors, likewise, were doing exactly the same. "If you must, Flynn," she answered coolly, shifting slightly on her bench to make way for Cordelia.

"Thank you," Cordelia replied, easing herself into the space and putting her book and feather on the table. Looking back to where she had sat before, she could see that Hermione's face wore a hurt look, while Ron was mouthing the word 'traitor' in her direction.

Their opinions mattered little at this point. She needed to calm down. And the easiest way to do that was to get absorbed into reading the book in front of her. Soon enough, the class' chatter began to start up again after they realised that watching someone read was not particularly interesting. Flitwick began to move up and down the classroom, watching students try to perform the Levitation Charm that they were supposed to learn that day.

"Sorry if I was rude earlier, Daphne," she murmured.

"An apology is not required. I can understand why you would be...upset," Daphne replied, sneaking a glance at the trio that Cordelia had left behind and frowning. Ron was flailing his arms about like a windmill, while Harry was just doing his best to not be poked in the eye by his friend's wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron shouted loudly. The feather in front of him did absolutely nothing.

"You're saying it wrong," snapped Hermione, "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-oh-sa. Make the 'gar' nice and long, and the 'o' as well,"

"You do it then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

"With friends like that, I am actually surprised that you have not left them behind," Daphne commented, watching Hermione as she performed the charm flawlessly and caused her feather to float upwards. "That muggl—ah, pardon me. Granger. Surely she realises that some people are beyond helping? Trying to teach them would only result in them resenting her,"

"I know," sighed Cordelia, "I've been trying to get them to make up and forget about what happened the day after Flying class. Hermione's convinced that following rules to the letter is the right way to go, but Harry and Ron aren't-"

"Stop, Flynn. Stop right there," Daphne interrupted. Her icy-blue eyes stared into Cordelia's own, fixing her with a disapproving look. "They have a problem with each other. Not with you. Not personally, at least. Why would you try to put yourself between the two of them? You will only get both sides' resentment when they think you favour the other side,"

"But they're both my friends,"

"Then you should keep it that way. Let them dislike each other, and keep yourself out of their arguments. If you really need to talk to them, why not do it while they aren't all in one room?"

Cordelia wasn't entirely convinced that was the right thing to do, but nodded anyway. It seemed like it would work better than trying to make both sides make up, anyway.

"Good. Now that we have that out of the way, have you succeeded in casting this yet? My feather still refuses to move any more than two inches above my desk,"

Picking up her wand, Cordelia took another look in the spellbook. The hand movement shown in the diagrams seemed simple enough; a wide sweep to the right, followed by a strong, abrupt flick upwards. She followed the motions described in the book, muttering the spell quietly. The feather moved ever so slightly upwards; but that could well have been just her sleeve blowing air on it as she moved her hand. She needed to try again, this time for real.

"Wingardium-" she incanted, waving her wand gently to the right, "-Leviosa!"

The sharp final flick caused the feather to hover about three feet above the desk before gently coming down. "Well done, Miss Flynn! Two points to Gryffindor. Now, Miss Granger, Miss Flynn; if there are any classmates near you that still have not managed to cast the levitation spell, please see if you can help them,"

Cordelia glanced at Daphne, who was still holding her wand and looking at her expectantly. Smiling, Cordelia nodded. "Alright. So...uh...could you show me how you were casting it?"

It turned out that all Daphne needed was a slight change in when she was saying the words. Instead of beginning the incantation on the first motion of the wand, she started saying the words before her wand had even moved. Once that mistake was corrected, Daphne was levitating the feather up and dropping it on Cordelia's head, much to the latter's amusement. She could even make it dance circles in the air, and even make it brush against her cheek. And even use it to tickle the inside of her ear.

"You've got better control than I do," Cordelia giggled when the feather tickled her ear again. "Okay, okay! Stop it, I get it now, you can do it!"

"Surrendering already? How very unlike a Gryffindor," Daphne smirked. "You know, Cordelia, if those three are giving you problems in class, you are free to sit next to myself. I certainly would not have a problem with that,"

A sudden bang came from Ron's table. The boy had somehow ignited his feather after a spectacularly poor attempt at casting a levitation charm. "I might actually have to do that, Daphne," groaned Cordelia.

All through the rest of the day, Hermione was nowhere to be seen. Not in class, not in the corridors, and not in the fields outside the castle. Cordelia even searched the library from top to bottom, to no avail. She had a strange feeling that maybe either Ron or Harry were somehow involved in her disappearance, but for Hermione to skip class? That was literally unheard of. That girl was always in class at least five minutes before the teachers even arrived. Eventually, Cordelia just gave up searching for her. She would have to turn up in the dorms at night anyway.

"Padma," she asked the Indian girl as they walked down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, "Have you seen Hermione, by any chance? She hasn't been to any of our classes,"

"Hermione? I heard from Lavender that she was crying in the girls' toilet on the ground floor," she replied, frowning, "Apparently, she wants to be left alone. Nobody really wanted to try and convince her to leave, anyhow. Do you know why she's like this? I mean, you're literally one of the very few people that even talk to her,"

"No, unfortunately. I'm as confused as you are. She was fine in Charms, so something must have happened right after that class," Cordelia replied, scratching her head. "I guess I should talk to her. Hey, could you save me a spot at the Halloween feast? I'll see if I can cheer her up and bring her to the feast. She shouldn't miss out on something like this,"

"Sure. It's starting in five minutes, though. You'd better hurry if you don't want to miss anything,"

Cordelia nodded and turned towards the corridor leading to the ground floor girls' bathroom. It was on the way to the Potions classroom and the Slytherin dorms, an area that she was not overly familiar with. More than once, she opened the wrong door and only found an empty classroom; and one time, she had run into a dead end on a side passage, forcing her to double back and walk all the way back to the main corridor. Eventually she found the correct room, after quite a lengthy search.

"Hermione?" she called out. The bathroom seemed empty; there was no sound of flowing water, no idle chatter, no footsteps. Nothing. Further in, however, she noticed a faint sniffling noise. One that was coming from a closed toilet cubicle nearest to the exit. "Hermione, open up. I know that you're in there,"

"Leave me alone!" she wailed.

Rolling her eyes, Cordelia squatted next to the cubicle, propping her head up with both hands. "Hermione, this isn't like you. You missed a class, and you've been hiding from everyone for most of the day. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Just leave me alone,"

A faint thump came from behind Cordelia. Another thump. And yet another. They were growing louder. And then, with an almighty crash, the wall on the other side of the bathroom exploded in a shower of debris and dust. A terrible, choking stench assaulted her nose; one that smelled much like a putrid combination of month-old unwashed socks and a public restroom that had never been cleaned for a year.

It didn't take long for her to see what had caused the damage and brought such an ungodly smell to the bathroom. A gigantic twelve-foot tall creature was standing in the hole in the wall. Its dull grey skin utterly reeked; there was all manner of filth plastered all over it, most of which Cordelia did not even want to know about. Its lumpy, lumbering form stretched almost from wall to wall, with a tiny bald head perched on top; its short, stubby legs could barely move its great girth. It held a huge wooden club, which dragged along behind it.

"Oh...my...god," Cordelia gasped, taking a few steps back. "What is that?! Hermione, we've got to get out of here, now!"

As dim-witted as the creature was – or appeared to be, with its tiny, beady eyes – its hearing was apparently still good enough to hear her. It roared, lifting up its club and taking a swing. Cordelia shrieked, diving to the ground. The tip of the club slammed into the cubicles, sending shattered pieces of wood and tile all over the room. Hermione, sitting in the now-exposed cubicle, caught sight of the terrifying creature in front of her and screamed in terror.

"Hermione!" Cordelia hissed, "We need to get out of here!"

But the terrified girl didn't listen to her. Instead, she backed away from the troll, whimpering incoherently as she pressed herself flat against a wall. The troll raised its club again and took another wild swing, this time smashing every sink on the left side of the bathroom and sending shards of ceramic and lengths of pipe flying into the air.

Cordelia rose to her feet and drew her wand. "Flipendo! Flipendo!" she shouted, letting off a flurry of knockback jinxes in quick succession. The spells simply bounced off the troll's skin, shattering a couple of sinks and knocking tiles loose from the walls. The dim-witted brute lifted up its club again, as though it didn't even feel the spells. "Diffindo!"

The cutting charm made a small white scratch on the troll's grey skin, and the creature stopped. Dumbly, it lifted a finger and scratched at the tiny mark, as though it felt an irritating fly land on it. "Nothing's working!" hissed Cordelia. "Diffindo!"

A large chunk of the troll's club split off, leaving the troll with a still mostly whole club – with a sharp edge on one side. "Oh. That can't be good,"

The dull clunk of wood on tiles drew the creature's attention. It looked at the chunk of wood and then blinked. Once. Twice. And then it looked at its club, running a stubby finger on the sharp edge that wasn't there before. Finally realising what had just happened, it roared angrily and slammed its club twice on the ground, rocking the entire room.

"Hermione! Get down!" Cordelia yelled; the troll lifted its club much more quickly than before, and lashed out towards the girls. With her friend still in a fearful stupor, and the troll's club rapidly swinging towards them, Cordelia dashed to Hermione and pushed her down to the ground, diving on top of her to protect her.

She felt a searing pain and a loud crack as the club slammed into her side, and she felt her feet leave the ground. Briefly, she saw Hermione tumble across the ground; right before she herself sailed across the room and into a shower stall, landing with a hard crack against its back wall. The wall crumbled on impact; several pipes behind broke, spraying water everywhere and soaking her thoroughly. Groaning, Cordelia struggled back to her feet, nearly slipping on the rapidly-pooling water under her. There was pain everywhere all down her left side. Even breathing sent stars to her eyes from the stabbing agony in her chest. That troll could really hit _hard_.

"Help! Someone, help!" Hermione screamed, backing away from the troll. Perhaps having decided that Cordelia was down for the count, the troll had turned its attention to the other girl in the room.

Cordelia looked around wildly for something to help her. Her spells were far too weak to actually do anything to the troll. Attacking it with her fists? The troll's skin was like a slimy, leathery armour. That wouldn't work. Hitting it with something? There were pipes that had been knocked loose, scattered about the room. Picking up a tap, she hurled it as hard as she could at the troll. "Over here, stupid!"

The troll grunted stupidly when the tap smacked into the back of its head. Turning around, it roared and slammed its club twice on the ground, before charging towards Cordelia. The girl gulped, readjusting her grip on a piece of metal pipe. Her heart was pounding. Her pulse was racing. She only had one chance to do this, or they were both dead.

Up went the club. Down went the girl. Across came the club, sweeping in a broad arc. She felt something sharp slice across her face; something warm and wet trickled down her cheek. She saw red, and she knew she had to act now. Raising the pipe like a golf club, she rushed forward and swung with all her might. Right in between the troll's legs with a resounding squelch.

With a high-pitched squeal that she thought was impossible for such a large creature, the troll dropped its club and sank to its knees, cross-eyed while mewling in pain. Its massive hands covered its crotch. Cordelia looked at the pipe in her hand. It was bent out of shape by the impact against its nethers, covered in unmentionable fluids and black blood.

A sharp pain lanced through Cordelia's spine as she straightened up. Something was definitely wrong with her body, and she didn't want to find out what it was. Not with the troll still in front of her. The troll was also in pain, but that pain would pass – and it would definitely be angrier than before. She needed to put an end to this troll, immediately. But how? How would one kill or cripple something so large?

A memory rose to the front of her mind, completely unbidden.

" _All vertebrates possess a spinal cord, a central bundle of nerves which run through the entire body. Severing it would result in a nearly instantaneous death, or at least a total loss of bodily control," Amanda spoke to her daughter, pointing at an anatomical model of a frog that she kept in her room._

"That's it," she murmured. She just needed something very sharp, and something very hard.

A needle.

McGonagall's transfiguration class had them turn a matchstick to a needle. A needle was sharp.

"Come on, come on," she hissed, fumbling with her wand and tapping it on the pipe she had in her other hand. The bent metal warped and shifted, straightening out, lengthening- "No, too much!" -shortening again, tapering to a point – until it eventually formed a narrow length of metal the length of her arm, with a gigantic silver loop on one end and a viciously sharp point on the other.

A gigantic needle.

She clambered up the troll's back. Its stench, so close to her nose, was utterly revolting; but at this point she didn't care any more. She just wanted to end this nightmare and sleep. By the time she reached the back of its neck, it was finally starting to stand up. She lifted the giant needle with both hands and slammed it down. The troll roared in pain. She lifted it up again and slammed it down again. And again. And again. Until the troll finally went limp, collapsing forward in a heap.

Cordelia grunted and rolled off the troll's back and onto the wet floor, just as the door to the girls' bathroom slammed open. Several loud footsteps echoed around her. She didn't know _who_ it was, and neither did she remotely care. She just knew that with the troll dead, both Hermione and herself were both safe.

"Is it—Merlin. Who did this...?" she heard Professor McGonagall whisper. "Miss Granger? Are you injured?"

"N-no, Professor McGonagall, I'm fine,"

Groaning, Cordelia tried to sit up. A pair of hands pushed her back down again. "Miss Granger might not be injured," she heard Snape say, "But Miss Flynn is most certainly injured. I shall take her to the hospital wing,"

Snape's and Professor McGonagall's faces loomed above her. Whatever fear that she had of the troll evaporated quickly, replaced by fear of imminent disciplinary action by Hogwarts' strictest teacher. The woman's face was pale, and her thin lips had all but vanished. "Miss Granger. I will not ask about why you and Miss Flynn are down in the girls' bathroom while the feast is ongoing. I feared the worst when Mr. Potter informed me that both of you were missing from the feast since the start. I am glad that you are both alive...and...well, alive. Miss Granger, come with me. Severus, if you would?"

Soon, Cordelia found herself cleaned up and dried, tucked into a comfortable bed in the hospital wing. Snape had slinked off back towards the dungeons right after, saying that he needed to ensure that everyone in his house was well and accounted for. Madam Pomfrey, the matronly witch that was the school's healer, was at her side, casting various spells. Her frown deepened with every cast, and she eventually stood up straight, crossing her arms with her wand still in hand.

"The cuts and bruises were easy enough to heal, but I'm afraid that you've got a couple of fractured ribs on your left side," she said slowly, "For some reason, however, my usual bone-mending spells aren't working as quickly as they should. You will remain here overnight, and I will check on your progress tomorrow morning. Are you aware of any family history of healing spell rejection, Miss Flynn?"

"Uh...my father's a wizard, but he hadn't said anything about...spell rejection?"

"I see. Well, that rules out requirements for specific treatments in your case, which is good. But I need to ask another question, if you don't mind,"

Cordelia shifted slightly, and the bed under her gave a worrying creak.

"Visually, you appear to be of average or slightly under average weight for a girl of your height. But when measured..."

She trailed off, looking at the golden numbers floating above Cordelia's head. One hundred and eighty-five pounds.

"That can't possibly be correct," Professor McGonagall murmured, perplexed. Madam Pomfrey shook her head; she recast the spell, and the same numbers reappeared.

"Yes. That was what I had thought earlier when I cast my diagnostic spells, but it appears that Miss Flynn is much, much heavier than any of the other students of her year for a reason that I don't know. I was hoping that maybe you could tell us more about your background, Miss Flynn? A parent that was a part-giant, perhaps?"

"That might make a bit more sense," Hermione chimed in. Both of the adults in the room looked at her. "She pushed me to the ground and...and made sure that the troll hit her instead of me. But she just...stood back up. It was like she didn't even feel it,"

"It really hurt, Hermione," grumbled Cordelia, moving a hand to rub her bandaged ribs. Madam Pomfrey immediately slapped her moving hand with a pointed glare. "Ow! Okay, okay! I won't do that,"

"Well, a fully grown mountain troll would certainly do more than crack a few ribs on a normal person," Professor McGonagall spoke. "But do continue, Miss Granger. I'd like to know more about what has happened tonight,"

"When I looked up again, Cordelia had a pipe in one hand and a wand in another. She transfigured the pipe into a giant needle and then climbed up the troll's back...and...and..."

She fell silent, her face turning a little green. Professor McGonagall grimaced. "Yes. I think that you won't need to describe what happened next, Miss Granger. Still, to pierce a mountain troll's hide with nothing but an oversized needle...I find it hard to believe that you have no giant heritage, Miss Flynn. Do you?"

"No, Professor. My mum is a muggle, and my dad's a normal sized wizard,"

Professor McGonagall regarded her with a suspicious look. "Well, if you insist, Miss Flynn. In any event, while I do not approve of you staying in such a dangerous spot – and getting injured – I will have to admit that your display of bravery in defending Miss Granger from a mountain troll was noteworthy. As is successfully defeating one in single combat, with the...inventive use of transfiguration. Twenty points to Gryffindor, and Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this incident. Miss Granger, you may leave now,"

Hermione nodded to Professor McGonagall, who returned the gesture and left. "Madam Pomfrey? Could I talk with Cordelia for a few minutes?"

"As long as you make sure that she doesn't move from the bed or puts any weight on her left side. Ten minutes," the healer said, promptly walking off to the potions cabinet and looking through it for some potion or another. When she was out of earshot, Hermione fixed Cordelia with a knowing look. "So. Is this another round of 'accidental magic'? I really don't think all that could be possible with just 'accidental magic'. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Cordelia sighed. There was no getting out of this now. Not with Hermione, and certainly not with Madam Pomfrey.

* * *

A/N

Giant enemy troll. Hit its weak spot for massive damage!


	11. 11 - Mending Bridges

"Hermione," Cordelia said darkly, "Drop it. Don't ask about it, and don't even think about it. Please,"

"What? Now you're admitting it's _not_ accidental magic? Hermione replied testily, "Then what is it?"

"Something that you don't want to know. Mum says that I shouldn't tell anybody outside of my family about this,"

"Why? What could be so wrong about knowing how you can be so strong and...well...heavy?"

"Please, Hermione. I'm asking you as a friend, don't pry into this. It's a secret in my family, and it should stay like that,"

Hermione huffed. "Friends don't keep secrets between each other. And if you are my friend, why did you leave me with Ron and Harry earlier today? I spent an entire hour trying to not listen to Ron whisper insults while I tried to teach him how to use the Levitation Charm!"

The brown-haired girl's persistence and childish grudge-holding was starting to grate on Cordelia's nerves. She was exhausted, still injured, and all that Hermione seemed to want was to demand answers about things that she had no right to know about. And she even dared to suggest the idea that Cordelia was abandoning their friendship by leaving her with Harry and Ron!

"Hermione," Cordelia snarled, turning on her side. Her ribs creaked in protest, and a fresh wave of pain shot through her; but she didn't care about it. A point needed to be made, and it needed to be made right there, right then. "You weren't the only one listening to insults. Ron is my friend. Harry is my friend. You're my friend,"

She grabbed the front of Hermione's robes and yanked her close, so that their noses were touching. "AND THE THREE OF YOU HAVE BEEN GOING AT IT FOR A WEEK!" thundered Cordelia, A coppery taste crept into her mouth, and she hacked up a few globs of blood. "WITH ME IN THE MIDDLE, LISTENING TO EVERY NASTY WORD THAT YOU SAID TO EACH OTHER!"

Letting go of Hermione's robes, she cupped her face with her hands and sniffed. "How do you think it feels, watching you three tear into each other like that? When I can't say anything without either one of you thinking that I've taken the other's side? In class, out of class, in mealtimes and in the common room? And don't even say that I don't care about you, because I was looking for you all afternoon!"

"Miss Flynn! Calm down!" Madam Pomfrey shouted, rushing back to her side and trying to push her down – for all the good that did. She may as well have been pushing against a rock anchored in concrete. Eventually, Cordelia sank back into her bed, watching as a shocked Hermione backed slowly away from her. "If Miss Granger is making you uncomfortable, I can force her to leave,"

"Please do. I think it's better for both of us if we talk later, after we've calmed down,"

Hermione nodded stiffly and left the hospital wing in a hurry. As soon as she had left, Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and the door slid shut and locked with an audible click. Without missing a beat, the mediwitch turned around and started to cast diagnostic spells again.

"Well, your outburst seems to have cost you a few more cracked ribs, Miss Flynn," sighed Madam Pomfrey, "Don't do that again. Now, I need to ask some questions. I heard enough of your conversation with Miss Granger that you have some things that you do not want to discuss, so if you do not want to answer them, I will understand. Just be aware that everything I ask is to make sure that I know enough about you so that I can treat any injuries properly in the future,"

Cordelia nodded slowly. "Good. Now, about your heritage. I had a little of your blood tested with a few diagnostic charms, and...well, I must say I'm surprised. You've got no giant heritage in you, or troll-"

Cordelia's eyes widened and she choked a little in disgust. "Ack—excuse me? _Troll_ heritage?"

Madam Pomfrey didn't even bat an eye at this comment. "Yes, troll heritage. It's entirely possible. But in any case, yours was a strange case. There appears to be no magical creature blood in you, but you didn't entirely register as being a hundred-percent pure human. In the interests of your health, I need to know what this difference is. Some potions that work on humans don't work properly on part-humans, and may have unpleasant side effects if taken in the wrong dosage, or if it was taken at all,"

Cordelia remained silent, desperately trying not to think about _how_ someone could possibly have partial troll blood. What sort of diagnostic charms were out there? What other things could they possibly find out? Still, Madam Pomfrey did bring to light just how lucky she was. If she had been more severely injured, and they couldn't cure her with potions or spells...that would be very, _very_ bad for her. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

"Can you...keep a secret, Madam Pomfrey?" Cordelia asked, "Mum and dad asked me to not say anything, but...if I get injured...it'll be worse if I can't be fixed up. But I really don't want anyone knowing about...yeah,"

Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow, but nodded. She cast a silencing charm over both of them and conjured some curtains to block out anyone else that might have been looking. "I can, and I will. Mediwitch-patient confidentiality is needed for trust. If something is kept secret, it's normally done so for a reason. You have my word that I won't tell anyone else. Even Professor Dumbledore,"

"I wasn't born. I was made," murmured Cordelia, looking at her fingers and flexing them.

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "Excuse me?"

"My mum is a muggle geneticist. Someone that...studies and changes living things. My dad was...a genetic donor. Whatever that meant. Mum wasn't too clear when she said that, saying that I had to wait until I was at least thirteen until she would talk to me about 'the birds and the bees',"

"And...who is your dad, if I may ask?"

"Phineas. Phineas Black,"

Now that was a name that confused Madam Pomfrey a lot more. Dumbledore often remarked at the staff table about a certain Phineas Black that he was friends with during his years at Hogwarts. But if he were the very same Phineas Black that Dumbledore spoke about, surely his daughter would be a lot older. Unless, of course, he managed to find a woman _much, much_ younger than he was.

"Alright. Sorry, continue,"

"Anyway. I was reading through some books in my mum's library, and I came across her journals. I was one of her great projects. A project to advance the human race. She changed how I would grow up before I was even born. Something about 'genetic modification'. From what I read, all six of us – me, and my sisters, who were all the same – were given modifications to make us stronger and faster than everyone else,"

"The Black family is very potent when it comes to wizardry. No male Black has fathered a squib in centuries. You said that you were one of six, but I haven't seen any of your sisters at the Sorting. What happened to them?"

Cordelia's eyes looked down. "They're dead. I was the only one who survived,"

"I'm very sorry for asking that, dear," Madam Pomfrey said softly.

"No, it's alright. I didn't grow up with them at all, actually. I only knew about them because of mum's journal. But that's all that I could understand about where I came from. Mum caught me looking through the journal and talked to me about it. I'm heavier and stronger than other people because I was...designed that way,"

Designed that way. The way that Cordelia had spoken about herself caused a bit of bile to rise in Madam Pomfrey's mouth. Surely, the muggles couldn't have advanced so far and so fast as to manipulate life itself. Even magic had its limits. This seemed just...wrong. A girl created as an experiment - and potentially even six of them!

"Does she see you as an experiment, perhaps? Do you feel lonely, or neglected in any way?"

Cordelia shook her head vehemently, horrified that Madam Pomfrey would even suggest that. "No way! She sends me letters almost every day, and it's not like I don't have friends back at home. Or a shortage of hugs from both mum and...dad,"

So she wasn't an experiment – or rather, _is_ not an experiment. That put the healer's mind more at ease, but something still rubbed her the wrong way about the entire idea about purposely modifying life.

She could see why Cordelia was reluctant to mention her origins. Most wizards would claim that she was a creation of the Dark Arts, even if the muggles had somehow created a method to alter life itself without any magical interference. And the potency of these alterations couldn't be underestimated. A troll's club that could demolish half of a bathroom had only cracked her ribs and given her some minor gashes and cuts on a direct hit. The Auror office would kill to have some recruits that were so resistant to physical damage; and practitioners of the Dark Arts—well, that was certainly going to be a problem if word got out and reached their ears.

A loud rumble interrupted Madam Pomfrey's thoughts. Cordelia was clutching at her stomach, her face flushed a bright scarlet. "Oh, I'm very sorry. You didn't even get a single bite to eat from the Halloween feast. Wait here, I will send for some food,"

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, and a low table materialised itself over Cordelia's bed, with a golden plate and a silver goblet on it. Several extra pillows popped up from nowhere underneath the girl's back, propping her up so she was sitting comfortably. "Mimsy, please get some food for Miss Flynn. Hospital wing, our only patient. Miss Flynn, what would you like to have...?"

"Uh..." Cordelia said uncertainly. She wasn't used to having this much choice. "A...couple of steaks and some mash, peas and gravy with it?"

For a brief moment, Madam Pomfrey had reservations about whether or not it was wise to give the girl what was basically a free pass to order as much as she could from the kitchens. The house-elves didn't actually mind cooking; after all, they always prepared huge amounts of food every single day for the occupants. Wastefulness, however, was never a good thing to encourage in a student. Especially-

Well. Her fears about wasting food and drink were wholly unfounded, it seemed. Cordelia immediately attacked the plate piled high with food as soon as it appeared, virtually inhaling the entire meal in less than five minutes, and then washing it down with an entire goblet of pumpkin juice. And if that wasn't enough, the plate cleaned itself and another giant slice of strawberry cake appeared on it – which was also promptly devoured by Cordelia.

"Miss Flynn, is it really a good idea to eat so much before sleeping?" asked Madam Pomfrey, not quite believing what she had just seen.

"Uh...actually, now that I think about it...probably not," Cordelia said, her cheeks turning pink. She clamped her hand over her mouth and suppressed a burp. "Sorry. I was starving,"

"I'll take it that this ability to consume huge quantities of food is another side-effect of your...changes," said Madam Pomfrey, shaking her head in disbelief. She waved her wand and vanished the plate and goblet. In its place was a toothbrush and a glass of water. "Brush your teeth. I'll prepare a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion so that you can rest without being bothered by your injuries, and a watered-down Skele-gro to help your ribs mend. Would you mind if I monitored your injuries overnight?"

Cordelia tilted her head. "You know better than I do, Madam Pomfrey. If you think it's needed, I'm not going to say no,"

* * *

"Yuck. Skele-gro was foul," Cordelia whined, as she tried to change into her usual robes in the Gryffindor dormitory.

She had been released at six thirty in the morning, after waking up far earlier than expected. When a sleepy and confused Madam Pomfrey appeared in the hospital wing wondering why her wards had tripped, the mediwitch had given her a brief check-up before letting her go with just a fresh set of bandages over her still-tender ribs. She had said something about taking it easy for the next week or so, but that wasn't terribly important. It wasn't like she was going to fight another troll in the next few days, after all. What was more important, though, was that she was able to walk around again, and breathe normally without having any pain!

Well, maybe she spoke too soon. She let out a quiet yelp of pain when she tried to pull her robes over her head and the bandages ended up squeezing her chest too tightly.

"Cordelia, you're back?" murmured Hermione, stirring from her bed. Her bushy hair appeared even bushier than usual. If her bloodshot, baggy eyes were any indication, she had been crying and had little sleep overnight.

"Yep. Madam Pomfrey said that I could go, as long as I took it easy," she said, but grimaced when she looked at how her robes were still hanging off her arms, "But I didn't think 'taking it easy' also meant that I couldn't put on my robes. Uh...Hermione, could you help me?"

The other girl shifted slowly off her bed while rubbing her eyes. With a bit of tugging and pulling in this way and that, eventually Cordelia slipped into her robes. "Thanks," she said, adjusting the sleeves so they were sitting comfortably on her shoulders. After slipping on her cloak, Cordelia sat down on her bed. Hermione, for some reason, had also followed suit, sitting down beside her.

"I fed Huginn last night," she muttered, startled when the bird in question cawed loudly next to her ear. "I hope I gave her the right food. There were biscuits and pellets underneath her cage, and I gave her the pellets,"

"Oh, you fed her?" Cordelia said, looking at the somewhat sleepy black bird. She was noticeably rounder and more sluggish than usual. Looking at the overflowing food tray, Hermione had likely emptied half the pellet box into it, and Huginn had devoured as much as she could overnight. "But I thought you didn't like her?"

Hermione chewed on her lip. "Well, since you weren't there to feed her, she kept cawing all night long. I don't know how everyone else slept through all the noise,"

"Oh. You know, I thought you read every textbook that we had to bring to Hogwarts, Hermione. The beds have silencing charms on the curtains. You just need to pull them all the way around the bed and you can't hear anything on the other side,"

"Oh," Hermione muttered, now feeling very foolish. "So that's how everyone slept through all that noise,"

"Yep. If the curtains didn't have those charms, I wouldn't get much sleep at all, with Huginn right next to my ear. But speaking of Huginn, I think she wants to be out. You want to come with me on a walk, don't you?"

Huginn croaked and pecked at the bars of her cage, making Cordelia grin. "Come on. Let's get you out of there, and we can go for a walk,"

After she had let the bird settle on her shoulder, Cordelia walked down to the common room. She was surprised to find that Harry and Ron were already there, sitting by the fireplace. "I didn't think you two woke up earlier than eight in the morning,"

They jumped up from the armchairs that they were in. "Cordelia!" Harry gasped, "You're okay! I thought that...well, you know. You didn't come back to Gryffindor Tower last night after we heard about the troll in the dungeons. Where did you go?"

"Madam Pomfrey made me stay in the hospital wing overnight," she spoke.

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "Hospital wing? What happened? Didn't you run away from the troll?"

She rolled her eyes. "I would, if I knew that the troll would break into the girls' bathroom before it actually did. I was inside, and it was blocking the door,"

"Blimey," Ron murmured, his face paling, "You didn't get hit, did you?"

"I wish I didn't. It really, really hurts," deadpanned Cordelia, rubbing her side, "It broke most of the bathroom and hit me when it took a swing at Hermione,"

"I knew it! This is all her fault, isn't it?"

"My fault, Ron?" Hermione spoke, emerging from the girls' dormitory, already wearing her usual school robes. "The troll? Just in case you didn't realise, I nearly got killed in there. If Cordelia wasn't there, I would've probably gotten killed!"

"Exactly! If you weren't there, then she wouldn't have been there at all!"

"Shut up. Both of you," Cordelia hissed, cradling her head. "I don't want to hear any more of this. Why do you two keep arguing, anyway? Why can't both of you just get along?"

"She's a bloody know-it-all teacher's pet who doesn't know when to sod off!"

"And you're a hot-headed git who doesn't know when to admit that someone is actually right!" Cordelia shouted over him, "You've been having problems in almost every class. She's even tried to help you in Charms and Transfiguration, and what do you give back to her? An insult every few minutes! Can't you just see that she's trying to help you?"

Ron's jaw dropped, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "Wh-why are you helping _her_?"

"I'm just sick of you two arguing! I don't want to pick sides. I don't want to pick between the three of you, not if I can help it. Can't we all just be friends?!" Cordelia snarled. Huginn gave a plaintive croak and nudged her cheek; she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You're right, Huginn. It's way too early to be angry. I'm going for a walk,"

She stormed out of the common room and down the grand staircase, ignoring the confused looks that the paintings were giving her. Flinging open the grand double doors to the courtyard, she marched out and let Huginn fly. The air outside was crisp and fresh, with a hint of pine perfuming the light breeze that blew over the frosty grass; hopefully, by the time she finished her morning stroll around the Black Lake, her three friends would have calmed down. Even better if the three had somehow become close friends.

Alas, no such luck. As she returned in time for breakfast with Huginn on her shoulder, Hermione, Ron and Harry were already seated at the Gryffindor table – on opposite sides of the hall. Harry and Ron were seated on the door closest to the exit, while Hermione had taken up a place nearest the teachers, idly swirling a spoon in a bowl of cereal with downcast eyes. It didn't take long for her to determine what exactly had happened; Harry started to apologise as she passed by, while Ron was still glaring angrily at her.

"Hermione. Do I even need to ask if Ron said sorry?" Cordelia asked softly as she settled in to the empty seat next to the brunette.

Hermione shook her head. "I already said I was sorry to both of them. Ron says that he doesn't want to hear it,"

"Well, that's his problem. Let's see how his mum likes seeing failing grades on every one of his classes," Cordelia shrugged, piling her plate full of eggs and toast. "But I think you know that's his problem. So, what's bothering you?"

Hermione remained silent.

"Come on, Hermione. You can tell me. I swear, I won't laugh,"

"I overheard him on the way out of Charms," Hermione whispered, in a shaky voice, "He said...he said that there was no wonder I didn't have any friends. That I was a nightmare to be around. I thought that...that maybe it was true. That I didn't have any friends, because nobody wanted to be around me,"

Cordelia bit her lip. That was definitely out of line. True, Hermione was a bit...rigid...when it came to rules, but to call her a nightmare? That was a bit much. Though the barb about her having no friends? She had to admit that Ron almost had a point there. Almost.

"Do you actually believe that, Hermione?"

She slowly, almost imperceptibly, nodded. Cordelia responded by throwing an arm around the smaller girl's shoulders and pulling her into a one-armed hug, patting her gently. "Then you're more wrong than you think. If you really had no friends, did you really think that I would look for you all afternoon yesterday?"

She shook her head.

"Padma was the one that told me about where you were. And she heard from Lavender, who actually was the first to find you. Both of them were concerned, Hermione. You have friends. You just need to talk to us," Cordelia said. Scratching her head, however, she added, "But Ron does have a point,"

Hermione stared at her, and she quickly corrected herself. "Sort of. You remind everyone of rules, almost every single day. Huginn remembers. Don't you, Huginn?"

The raven cawed quietly and gave Hermione a hard peck.

"The rules said that pets other than owls, toads and cats were forbidden. You remind me every day of this rule. But really, the teachers don't care about what pets you have, as long as they're not dangerous. There's one of the Gryffindor boys that has a giant spider. I have a raven. And I'm pretty sure one of the Ravenclaw girls has a pink puffball-looking thing,"

"Puffskein," Hermione said.

"Yep. A...one of that. A puffskein. We all broke the rules, and we didn't get into trouble. We're all sitting in a room with all the teachers, and I have Huginn on my shoulder, not even hidden. But she hasn't been taken away,"

"I don't understand. What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that maybe you need to relax about rules a bit. Mum used to say that following rules was fine, but if you want to find something new, you need to bend them a bit. As long as you're not doing anything too dangerous, people don't really mind. I mean, take a look at Fred and George," Cordelia said, looking in the direction of a commotion between three tall redheads on the other side of the hall.

The two elder Weasleys were bolting from the Great Hall, just as Ron's hair was starting to shift through all the colours of the rainbow. Everyone around them was laughing, including Professor Flitwick who happened to be passing by.

"They're having fun, and the professors know that what they're doing won't hurt Ron forever. They usually get off really lightly. You need to relax, Hermione. Have a bit of fun! Speaking of fun, there's supposedly the first Quidditch match of the year coming up soon. I can't wait to see it!"

Hermione nodded. She had heard various bits and pieces of information about Quidditch, but not enough to know about how it was played. "Everyone's so excited about Quidditch, but I don't understand it. I think I might need to research a few books to familiarise myself with it. Do you know of any reference texts that might-"

Cordelia groaned. "Maybe we should just watch the game,"

* * *

A/N:

Hermione, you're missing the point here D:

Minor Ron bashing in this chapter, but it needs to be done. He -is- a jealous, stupid git for the first few books, tagging along with Harry for god knows what reason other than disliking Slytherins and Malfoy in particular, and likely being the first person that Harry encountered that wasn't disagreeable like Malfoy. I personally found it very contrived that when Hermione got 'rescued' by Harry and Ron, they somehow became the best of buddies that got along just fine despite a couple of months of constant insults being thrown Hermione's way, courtesy of (mostly) Ron and (sometimes) Harry. It's a bit too far of a stretch, even considering the different mindsets of children. Children are more likely to forgive than adults, but they certainly aren't forgetful. They keep grudges and they can't exactly hide it very well in most cases.

Questions? Comments? Feel free to leave a review or message. I'll get around to it as soon as I can.

-ArcturusWolf


	12. 12 - Of Bludgers and Snitches

Things had gone slightly better with Hermione from that day on. Slowly but surely, she was starting to lose her obsession with following rules to the letter. Fred and George were warming up to her after she had stopped threatening to snitch on them for minor offenses, grinning instead whenever she reminded them that dungbombs and stink pellets were contraband in Hogwarts – because they knew that pranking Ron was enough to get her to look the other way. Harry, having accepted her apology and noticing her change in behaviour, had also started to tolerate Hermione's presence without either one starting an argument. The fact that Hermione was willing to share class notes with him might have also played a bigger part in that decision, but Cordelia was not so cruel as to let Hermione know about that just yet.

Friday came by again, and that meant double Potions with Slytherin. They were due to craft a slightly more finicky potion; a Forgetfulness Potion, which supposedly induces minor memory loss on its drinker. A quick read of the safety notes in the textbook was enough to make both Cordelia and Hermione shudder in distaste. The fumes were apparently enough to cause disorientation during the second phase of brewing the potion, and stirring it the wrong way could very well cause an explosion. With the first Quidditch match of the year coming on Saturday, they knew that Harry hadn't had time to read through the brewing instructions yet.

And the side effects were not something that either of them wished on Harry. Cordelia as she did not want her friend to be left in a daze for half a day, and Hermione because she wished to protect Gryffindor's house point total – both in Snape's class, and in the Quidditch match the following day.

"You've got to be kidding," groaned Harry, "I haven't had a chance to even read the potions book. Oliver's been making us practice Quidditch four times a week, and I've still got a transfiguration essay to finish for McGonagall,"

"Which is why we're trying to help you out, Harry," Cordelia said, looking at Hermione for reassurance, "We know what you're going through. Honestly, it'd help if you could skip a practice session or two, but-"

"Quidditch is serious business," said Harry flatly, echoing the same lines that virtually all of Gryffindor spouted out. "Yes, I've got a hundred and fifty house points that I need to grab, and I need to practice for it,"

"Exactly. We need the house points to beat Slytherin, but you need to pass Potions," Hermione added, frowning. "I don't approve of what Cordelia suggested, but it looks like we have no choice at this point. Harry, give us your Potions book,"

Wondering what the two witches could want with his beat-up textbook, Harry handed it over to them. Cordelia produced a slip of parchment which she stuck to the page containing the potion instructions with a bit of Spellotape. On it were rows of numbered sentences, in what was unmistakably a female hand with almost obscene attention to neatness; even the i's were dotted, and the t's were evenly crossed. "What's that, Cordelia?"

"A summary of the potions instructions. As long as you follow the notes exactly, it should come out perfectly," Cordelia said, "You can thank Hermione for those. I couldn't make the potions instructions any shorter if I tried,"

"Thanks, Hermione," said Harry, giving her a grateful smile. Spying Ron in the corner of his eye, however, he asked, "I know you don't exactly get along with Ron, but I'm sure you've seen how Snape picks on him almost as much as he does with me. Would you two make another set-"

"No," Cordelia and Hermione both replied in unison. The two of them were glaring angrily at the way Ron was playing wizarding chess with anyone that would play with him. Currently, he was playing two games at once, against Seamus and Dean.

"I'm not helping him. If he's got enough time to be playing games, he's got enough time to study for potions himself," Hermione muttered, turning back to face Harry.

Cordelia nodded in agreement. "And he hasn't exactly been nice to either of us after Halloween. He calls me 'traitor', and he still insults Hermione at every chance he gets,"

Snape, for some reason, was in a nastier mood than usual when they arrived in the Potions dungeon. He sneered at every student – even his own Slytherins, which was a surprise – as they passed by him at the doorway to the Potions dungeon. Harry had immediately lost five points from Gryffindor for bringing a dirty, unwashed cauldron, while Neville lost another five for not having one entirely. Not that the boy could possibly have one yet; his replacement cauldron still hadn't arrived since he had owled his grandmother three days ago.

"Sit down, you dunderheads, and begin preparing your potions," he snarled, limping back to his desk with the aid of a cane, "Page one hundred and fifty-nine. Potion of Forgetfulness. Potter, you will not work with Weasley today. Your insufferable disruptions have cost this class quite a bit of time. You will work with Granger, and Weasley will work with Patil. Move,"

Both boys thankfully had the presence of mind to not argue back against Snape. They nodded and split off to opposite ends of the classroom, their hatred for the overgrown bat quite clear in their eyes. Cordelia settled down at her usual desk in front of Snape's, with Daphne. By the time she had her potions book out and her cauldron on the fire, Snape had waved his wand over the blackboard and the brewing instructions for the potion had been magically written on it.

"Miss Flynn. Are you so despised by your own house that you would choose to work with one of my own?" Snape sneered, hovering over her desk. "Or are you simply trying to sabotage Miss Greengrass' potions with your ineptitude?"

"Neither, sir," Cordelia answered tonelessly, not even bothering to look up from her potions textbook as she wrote down the ingredients she needed to get from the storeroom. "Potions are marked in pairs. It doesn't help me if I ruin her potion on purpose,"

"Admitting so openly to requiring help from one of my students to get a passing mark? Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Miss Flynn, and see me at seven o'clock in the evening for detention. I will see if you are another deadbeat dunderhead with delusions of potions aptitude then. And see to it that you look at your professor when you speak to them,"

She felt a hand squeeze her thigh gently under the table, reminding her to not talk back to Snape. That was exactly what he wanted, after all. "Alright," she said through a forced smile, looking up at Snape. After giving her a coldly appraising look, the greasy-haired git swept away as ungracefully as was humanly possible, no doubt looking for another Gryffindor to target.

Picking up the pewter plate that was on the table, she marched off towards the ingredients storeroom. Little did she notice that someone was following her until she heard from behind her, "Good to see that you had managed to keep your temper under control, Cordelia,"

"Daphne!" she yelped, nearly dropping a plate with some mistletoe berries on it, "I thought you were looking after the cauldron,"

"It does not need supervision. This potion needs to begin with a cold cauldron," Daphne corrected her, "In any case. I apologise if Professor Snape has been a little short. He has not been particularly patient lately,"

"That's putting it mildly," snorted Cordelia. Snape with a short fuse was nothing new to Gryffindors, but taking fifteen points off for trivial matters before class had started properly was a new record, even for him. "What's wrong with him, anyway?"

"That is precisely why I need to speak with you here, where nobody can hear us. Meet me after lunchtime. Sixth floor corridor. Bring Harry and Hermione, but nobody else. Do not speak of this until we meet at that time,"

The blonde girl took a small vial of murky black water from a shelf in a dark corner of the storeroom and promptly swept out, her face schooled into an expression of complete indifference. Cordelia blinked, utterly perplexed. Daphne only ever spoke to her outside class to discuss schoolwork, and occasionally for transfiguration practice; but those only required _her_ to be present. Inviting Hermione for a review session might have made a little more sense, as the bushy-haired bookworm was well known as the brightest witch in the year, surpassing everyone else by a large margin. But Harry? He was competent, but not particularly brilliant in any subject except for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Why would Daphne need to see him, and what was that she said about Snape?

Needless to say, Cordelia's mind was no longer on potions from that point on. Thankfully, she had another copy of Hermione's notes stashed in her book, and the result of that session was adequate enough to avoid another heckling from Snape.

* * *

Daphne paced about in the empty classroom on the sixth corridor after lunchtime. Hundreds of thoughts were flying through her head; mostly those questioning what madness had possessed her to invite Potter and Granger along for this talk, and some questioning why exactly did she invite them to share some secrets from the Slytherin rumour mill. Snape's first words to every single Slytherin was fairly clear; all that happens in Slytherin, remains in Slytherin. Failure to abide by that single golden rule risked one's standing in the house immensely.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to convince herself that some secrets were more trouble than they were worth to keep. After all, those that directly concerned one's friends – _acquaintances_ , she quickly corrected herself – needed to be brought to light as discreetly and as quickly as possible. Especially if they threatened one of their lives.

She heard footsteps coming from outside the classroom, and she cast a brief glance at the clock on the wall. It was now one o'clock in the afternoon, and the students had likely finished their midday meal. Putting an ear to the door, she listened carefully for any voices.

"-She said to wait here after lunch," she heard Cordelia's voice.

"She didn't say anything else? No details, nothing? She just asked you to wait in an empty corridor, where nobody goes, without saying anything more?"

"Maybe she was pranking you?"

Those were Potter's, Granger's and Cordelia's voices. All three of them were there. She pushed the door open and stepped out into the corridor, hoping that Cordelia had listened and only brought those two with her.

"Daphne!" Cordelia cried out happily, causing Daphne to cringe a little. Subtlety and decorum were definitely some things that girl sorely lacked.

"Cordelia. Potter, Granger," she greeted them in turn, giving each of them a curt nod. Hermione and Harry looked at each other oddly, before returning the gesture. "Come inside. There is something important that I need to tell you all,"

Hermione crossed her arms. "That's just an empty classroom, isn't it? What's so important that it has to be said in there?"

Daphne was sorely tempted to roll her eyes, but thought better of it. A muggleborn witch had to be excused from lacking knowledge of certain hidden things, after all. "The doors have eyes and the walls have ears here in Hogwarts, Hermione. And sometimes, you don't want those prying eyes and ears to know," she said to them.

The three Gryffindors were somewhat unnerved, but followed Daphne into the classroom regardless. Harry was the first to speak. "We're inside. Now what?"

"Colloportus," Daphne muttered, and the door leading outside slammed shut with a wet squelch. "Now we may speak. I know you've been poking around about the third floor corridor, Potter. You've seen the three-headed dog on the third floor corridor, and you've been trying to find out what was underneath the trapdoor it's sitting on,"

"Wait—what, how'd you know about that?" Harry sputtered out.

"That you think that your escapade was a secret speaks volumes of your choice of companions, Potter," sighed Daphne in disapproval, "The youngest Weasley boy is not exactly what I would call discreet. Some of the Slytherins already knew about you being out of bed with a certain group of Gryffindors on that night. Especially as Malfoy is about as loud as Weasley is when it comes to preaching about his...schemes. But with Weasley spouting off things about a three-headed dog inside the third floor's forbidden room to everyone that would listen, it becomes fairly common knowledge now about what is inside. He is too dim to be making up false stories,"

Harry hung his head, and Hermione frowned. Evidently, they had not expected that Ron would do such a stupid thing as to tell everyone that all five of them had broken rules. Not that the word of one boy would convince teachers, of course; but to Slytherins, who were well aware that Malfoy had baited them into breaking curfew, Ron's stories could only be true.

"Ron. I swear, I'm going to hex him into next week!" Hermione grumbled, clenching her fist around her wand.

Daphne waved her hand. "You will not need to do that. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle have plans for him already. Just sit back and watch on Sunday, at around lunchtime,"

"But if you knew about us seeing that three-headed dog from Ron," Cordelia asked, her lips pursed in thought, "How did you know that Harry was looking for what that dog is guarding?"

"Well, considering that Potter is too busy preparing for Quidditch to even prepare properly for class-" Daphne noticed Hermione's eyebrows twitch a little, confirming her suspicions about who had written the note slipped in his textbook, "-I find it rather difficult to believe that Potter would be completing schoolwork in the library. Especially when he was spotted with clippings of the Daily Prophet, while looking at books that aren't even part of any of our classes. Specifically, it's difficult to understand why a Gringotts break-in would concern any student,"

"How?" Harry said weakly, "How do you know all this? I mean, I'm pretty sure I didn't see any Slytherins at all in the library,"

Daphne tipped her head towards the locked door. "The walls have ears and the doors have eyes, Potter. I don't need to hear these things from just Slytherins. In fact, I overheard these things from some Ravenclaw prefects talking about odd things that they noticed on their hall monitor duties. Hagrid may have helped as well, seeing as he kept rambling about a certain 'Fluffy' that was kept on the third floor, and how he needed to shut up before more 'Harries' come to ask about it,"

"But Hagrid usually keeps to himself," Hermione said slowly, "I mean, I've only heard of him inviting Harry and Ron over for afternoon tea,"

"Trust me. It's difficult to ignore the smell of a whole armload of raw meat every time he walks past at nine in the evening," replied Daphne, wrinkling her nose in disgust, "And he hadn't even used a freezing charm on them at all, by the smell of it. Utterly vile. However, enough of this. I have information you need, and you have information I want,"

Hermione crossed her arms. "It doesn't sound like you're going to help us for free," she muttered, eyeing Daphne suspiciously.

"You would be correct. I want you and Cordelia to help me with the transfiguration assignment from McGonagall. I've tried, and I've tried, and I still cannot change a teacup to a teapot, let alone write a foot-long essay on how to do it," replied the Slytherin girl.

"If you wanted to study together, you know I'll go if you ask, Daphne," Cordelia said, smiling. Daphne nodded in return, her lips also quirking in a small smile.

"I know you will, Cordelia, but Granger is...well," she said, trailing off, "I would like her to come along as well. I won't deny that she's quite brilliant. Especially for a muggleborn,"

"I'll just pretend I didn't hear that bit about muggleborns," commented Hermione, rolling her eyes. "What about Harry, though? He's been bogged down in Quidditch practice, and I'm worried that he'll fail this assignment. Can't he come with us, so we can all work on it together?"

Daphne frowned. "I do not have a problem with him. Not personally, at least. But with most of Slytherin under Draco Malfoy's control, it's difficult to work against him. Potter, you're marked as one of his greatest targets. I can't openly work with you, not unless I wanted to have an unfortunate accident in a few...or perhaps all of my classes,"

"Malfoy controls Slytherin? How?" Harry mouthed, his expression shifting to worry.

"Not directly. Most of us do not care for him, but his father has a lot of influence. His family is one of the oldest and wealthiest in Wizarding Britain," she said, gritting her teeth, "A single word from him to his father, and he could make life hell for me. You, Cordelia and Granger are safe as his father would likely think you beneath his notice. But my family is another Most Ancient and Noble House, which means that he would take a slight against his Heir as a personal affront. It frustrates me to no end,"

"Okay. I don't know if I understood everything you said, but I get it. You can't help me because he'll make life really hard for you," Harry said, shaking his head. "That git,"

"Yes. And you know now why I have no desire to see you fail, Potter," she spoke, "Every success you have is humiliating to Malfoy. And it amuses me to see him rant angrily to his two cronies because he did not get what he wanted,"

Harry nodded. "Right. So anyway, what were you going to tell me, anyway?"

"Not so fast. Do we have a deal? Granger, Cordelia?"

Harry shared a look with Hermione and Cordelia. Cordelia shrugged, saying that she would have agreed to study with Daphne either way. Hermione reluctantly agreed soon after, though she didn't quite trust Daphne or her reasons just yet.

"Very well, then. I shall see you two at seven o'clock on Monday, in this room," Daphne said, "Snape's limp is due to the three-headed dog in the third floor corridor. He was looking for something. And judging by how badly his leg was mangled, I would say that he had gotten very close, but failed,"

"So Professor Snape was trying to break in there!" gasped Hermione. "Professor Dumbledore needs to know about this!"

"No, Granger, Professor Dumbledore doesn't need to know. Snape's leg being mangled by the three-headed dog raises questions, but it doesn't mean that he was definitely trying to break in to cause harm. For all we know, he could have been trying to get in on Professor Dumbledore's orders, to add more security. Still, best be on your guard. If his temper is bad enough that he would actually turn on students of his own house, you can be quite certain that he'll be out to get Harry. Whatever the case, I have another piece of information that might interest you. The Gringotts break-in attempt coincides with my father saying that one of his business partners was complaining vehemently about the lack of security in the British branch of Gringotts,"

"Wait. You _know_ about who that break-in was targeting?" Hermione said quickly.

"Yes. Father always said that he maintained good relations with Mr. Flamel. As for what he does, or what was almost stolen from his vaults, I haven't got a clue. Father always said that what Mr. Flamel knows – and has – would be very dangerous in the wrong hands. I think that there is a good chance that this thing has been moved away from the vault to another secure location. I'll leave you to ponder about where that location might be,"

"Anything more?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No, Potter. I don't have anything more for you," she said, checking the clock in the corner of the classroom. "I need to return to the Slytherin common room before my housemates become suspicious. As far as we're concerned, this meeting has never happened. Alohomora,"

The door unstuck itself with another wet squelch. "I will see you later, then. Granger, Potter, Cordelia,"

And with that, Daphne swept away down the empty corridor, towards the grand staircase. Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Can we trust what she said?"

"It's more than we've got so far," sighed Hermione, "At least we now know that Snape's after whatever is being guarded by Fluffy, and there's someone called Flamel that almost had something powerful stolen from his vault in Gringotts,"

Harry nodded gravely. "And I think whatever it is, that three-headed dog – Fluffy – is guarding it. But we don't know what it is,"

Hermione glanced left and right. "Well, I'm sure that we can find out...in the library..."

Both Harry and Cordelia groaned loudly at the prospect of being dragged into the library for hours and hours on end. After all, when Hermione wanted to research something, there was never such a thing as enough reading. Stopping was only possible when they were either shooed out of the library, or collapsed in exhaustion, with the latter more likely than the former.

* * *

Saturday came far more quickly than either of them had expected. And with it, the first Quidditch match of the season. Harry walked into the Great Hall nervously for breakfast. A chorus of 'good luck' and 'don't fall off' reached his ears as soon as he walked by the Gryffindor table. He didn't know what was more distressing; the fact that the outcome of the match largely rested on his shoulders, or the fact that quite a number of the students believed that he was likely to fall off his broomstick.

"You'll be fine, Harry," Cordelia said, reassuring him as she spooned some scrambled eggs onto his plate.

"Yes. You've been flying really well in classes. You don't have anything to worry about," Hermione added, buttering some toast and putting it next to the eggs.

Harry stared at the loaded plate in front of him. He knew the girls meant well, but...he just couldn't do this. He felt queasy, just thinking that in an hour, he would be on the Quidditch pitch, playing in a game that would put Gryffindor second in the house points rankings – or one that would put Slytherin so far ahead that no other house could possibly catch up. "Thanks. But really, I'm not hungry," he muttered, pushing away the plate.

"Come on, Harry. Just a bit of toast, or some egg," Hermione wheedled.

"Yeah. Harry, you need your strength," Seamus Finnigan commented, sitting down on the opposite side of the table, "Seekers always get clobbered by the other team,"

"I'm not sure if that's helping, Seamus," Cordelia scoffed.

By eleven o'clock, virtually the entire school had made their way to the stands. They had been split by house; a sea of red and gold sat in one set of stands, while on the opposite side was a tide of green and silver. The yellow of Hufflepuff and blue of Ravenclaw were on other stands, positioned on the ends of the pitch, and every single one of the stands had been erected on towers of wood almost fifty feet high.

"I'm not sure if I like being this high up," muttered Cordelia, shivering as she looked over the edge of the stands, and noticing that there was literally nothing between her and a sheer drop other than a flimsy cloth banner.

"Oh, cheer up, Cordelia, it's not _that_ bad, is it?" Seamus laughed, "I mean, I'm sure that we could use _Wingardium Leviosa_ on you and make you float if you do,"

The image of being floated up – from an already high place – terrified her. She curled up into a ball with a frightened squeak, much to the amusement of nearby Gryffindors. "Wow. I didn't think that a girl that killed a troll by herself would be afraid of heights," snickered Dean Thomas.

"Shut up, Dean," groused Cordelia, her cheeks flushing bright red.

"Oooh! Here they come!" cheered a second-year girl from a row behind them, and Gryffindor erupted in a deafening chorus of cheers. The red-clad Gryffindor players were streaming out of the changerooms, carrying their brooms and waving back to the spectators. Well, all except Harry. He seemed to be clutching his own broomstick in a death grip.

"Poor Harry. He looks like he's got a case o' stage fright," Hagrid boomed from behind them all, "Let's just hope that he can play properly once it starts,"

And play properly he did – if playing properly meant being able to avoid getting hit. He circled high above the rest of the players, seemingly searching for the Golden Snitch. Once or twice, he ducked under Bludgers sent his way by Slytherin's Beaters; and more than a few times, even bobbed and weaved from being shoulder charged by the Slytherin captain himself. His luck, however, was not infinite; Cordelia cringed as she saw him dive with his hand outstretched, ready to catch the Snitch – only to be rammed from the side by the Slytherin captain, sending Harry careening off and nearly head-first into the stands.

"So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-" Lee Jordan, the commentator, shouted.

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting bit of foul play-"

"Jordan, I'm warning you,"

"Alright, alright! Marcus Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to absolutely anyone on the team, I'm sure. A penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet. She puts it away, no trouble. Gryffindor still in possession,"

Hermione was looking around when she noticed something was wrong. Very wrong. And judging by the gasp of shock from beside her, she was certain that others had noticed it too.

"Hermione," Cordelia said, "Brooms aren't supposed to do that...are they?"

Harry's broom was bucking violently. It swerved left and right erratically, the tail end jolting up and down; zigzagging as he tried to fly straight, and very nearly unseating him after it decided to shoot upwards twenty feet before plunging back down. Judging by the panicked look on his face, this was definitely not to plan.

"No," she gulped, "They're not supposed to do that,"

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaky, "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic. An' it's harder ter do against a Nimbus Two Thousand, that's a quality broom. No kid could do that,"

At these words, Hermione snatched a pair of binoculars from Ron and began to scan the crowd frantically. Not at the student stands; but at the teacher stands. "Hey! What are you doing," Ron shouted, "Give it back!"

"I'm—almost—done!" panted Hermione, resisting Ron's attempts to take back the binoculars. The boy was stronger than she was, however, and eventually wrestled it out of her hands. "Cordelia. I knew it. Take a look there; teacher's stands, third row, second from the left,"

Cordelia pulled out her binoculars from her robes, and looked at where Hermione was pointing. What she saw made her blood drain from her face.

There, in the stands, was Snape. Staring at Harry without blinking, a wand in hand, muttering non-stop under his breath.

* * *

A/N:

Greengrass the Spymaster. Totally has a ring to it!


	13. 13 - Smoke and Mirrors

"What do we do?" Cordelia asked, watching nervously as Harry clung on to the broom for dear life.

"Leave it to me," Hermione said. She disappeared off into the back of the stands and out of sight, reappearing half a minute later on the other side of the pitch, climbing up the back ladder to the staff stands. Cordelia watched as she pulled out her wand, conjuring some blue flames from its tip and lighting something on fire. Within seconds, the staff stands erupted into panic as Snape jumped from his seat with his robes alight.

"Oooh, it looks like Potter has regained control of his broomstick!" Lee Jordan howled, amid the cheers of the Gryffindor crowd.

True enough, Cordelia saw Harry zoom down as fast as he could to the grassy pitch below. At first, she thought that perhaps Harry had trouble keeping his lunch in. After all, after being tossed about like a rag doll held to the broomstick by a mere thread, who wouldn't be queasy? And for a moment after, it looked as though her thoughts had been confirmed. The boy clamped both hands over his mouth and heaved. But then strangely enough, he straightened up, with _something_ in his hands.

Something shiny and small, and looked as though it was struggling to leave his grip.

"I've got the Snitch!" she heard him call out as he waved it over his head, and the Gryffindor stands erupted in jubilation. The entire Slytherin team was howling in frustration, as were its students in their stands.

"He didn't catch it, he damn near swallowed it!" chortled Seamus, punching the air. Lee Jordan was screaming the results of the match out to the rest of the crowd; Gryffindor won with a very healthy one hundred and seventy points, to just sixty from the Slytherins.

But even as they celebrated, Cordelia could not help but wonder. Snape was a staff member of Hogwarts. Whether or not he was trying to steal or protect whatever was being protected by the overgrown three-headed dog on the third floor, attacking a student in broad daylight was definitely a bit too much. What exactly _did_ he have against Harry?

She made a mental note to talk to Daphne as soon as she could. Preferably with Hermione around.

Alas, that chance never came that night, nor on Sunday. With Gryffindor gloating about their victory over a notably upset Slytherin house, it proved nearly impossible to approach Daphne. Especially when the already reclusive Slytherins responded to Gryffindors' approaches with near hostility. More than once, they had attempted to talk to her, only to be driven away by older Slytherins with their wands out. Fortunately, it had never got to any more than threats, but neither Cordelia nor Hermione wished to push their luck.

On Monday, however, they had their chance. Daphne was already waiting for them in the empty classroom on the sixth floor. Several tables had been pushed together, with three inkwells and quills already there, as well as stacks of blank parchment.

"Good. I was wondering where you two have been," Daphne said tersely. "Well, should we get started? McGonagall's transfiguration theory isn't easy,"

"Wow, not even a hello, Daphne?" Cordelia gasped jokingly. The blonde huffed in response, standing up and extending a hand, which Cordelia grabbed and shook vigorously. "That's better! Is something bothering you?"

"Consider the fact that the rest of Slytherin takes its Quidditch very seriously," she snapped, "And that this is the first loss we've had in _seven years._ All due to a certain new Gryffindor seeker,"

"I didn't think you cared that much about Quidditch," Hermione said, tilting her head.

Daphne shook her head. "I personally do not. The rest of the blockheads in my house, however, do. And they see my association with you, especially in Charms and Potions, as a traitorous act. Merlin, the things they did to my belongings..."

She muttered some things under her breath that Cordelia was certain was better off unheard. Still, given how red the blonde's face grew, she wondered just how bad it was in Slytherin. It didn't make much sense to her, how a house that was so protective of its members could also be so cruel.

"I'm sorry to hear that,"

"Don't be," Daphne said, crossing her arms, "The ones that have offended me...I will let them have their fun today. Let them laugh. But enough of this; we agreed to study Transfiguration together, and we're wasting time talking,"

"Just one more thing," Hermione said quickly, "I thought you should know. Professor Snape was hexing Harry's broom in that match,"

"And you lit his robes on fire. I know. You aren't as stealthy as you think, Granger. I saw you run across the field when everyone was too focused on Potter. But you should know that for all his faults, Professor Snape is far too careful to be caught openly trying to kill a student,"

"But-"

"Think about it, Granger. Professor Snape is a _potions_ master. He would likely know recipes of poisons which we wouldn't even have heard about," sighed Daphne, "And Professor Snape is the head of Slytherin. If anything, he is well aware of just how fast rumours can travel among Hogwarts students – and how fast Slytherins can tell if something is true or not, when they put their minds to it. He dislikes Potter for some reason, but I really don't think that Professor Snape would be out to kill him. If he really was trying to kill Potter, do you really think that he would be doing it in such an open place, where anyone with binoculars can see him?"

"I guess not," admitted Hermione, "But Harry's broom stopped bucking around after I lit Snape's robes on fire! Doesn't that mean that he was hexing Harry's broom?"

Daphne frowned. "Even so, it still makes very little sense. What reason does Professor Snape have to do something like that against Potter? In a stand that had only other staff members, all of whom could have heard him if he was truly hexing Potter, no less. Enough pointless speculation. We have wasted enough time, and you still haven't upheld your end of the bargain, Granger. Let us get to work,"

* * *

Christmas was coming. Hogwarts was well and truly snowed in, with several feet of snow blanketing the once-grassy fields. Students huddled about the roaring fires in the Great Hall and in their common rooms for most of the day, trying to stave off the bitter chill that invaded every nook and cranny of the castle. Corridors lay deserted as students hurried on their way between classes, desperately trying to spend as little time as possible wandering about in the cold. Only a select few wandered about outside, bedecked in as many layers of clothing as they could.

Two of whom were the Weasley twins, who pranked everyone and anyone that they met with ice- and snow-related pranks. One time, they caused the entire first year class hurrying down towards Potions to slip and slide the whole way to the dungeons, by coating the floor with a slick of black ice. Another time, they enchanted a couple of snowballs to follow Professor Quirrell and smack into the back of his turban, causing the man no end of grief. Even Professor McGonagall wasn't safe from their pranks; she walked into the Great Hall at one point, followed by a horde of transfigured, meowing snow cats.

The days continued to tick by. Cordelia bounded up and down with excitement as she counted down the days until the holidays. All her work for that term was done. Every essay was handed in, and she had no more homework to do. There was nothing left except to relax and have some fun. She was rather sad that her parents were not letting her back home for Christmas, as her father had to show her mother his house on one of the islands in the Hebrides; but took consolation in that at least Hermione and Harry were staying behind as well. Hermione as her parents were going for an overseas trip, and thus couldn't look after her if she came home. As for Harry...well, she couldn't blame him for not wanting to return to the Dursleys. From what she had heard of his routine abuse at the hands of the Dursleys, Dudley's parents made Dudley himself look like a saint in comparison.

At last, Christmas arrived. Cordelia awoke to the sounds of wrapping paper being torn from presents and excited chatter from her dorm mates. There was a small pile of presents at the foot of her bed that had appeared overnight; some large, and some small. But presents were presents, and it was always the thought that counted.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione!" quipped Cordelia happily, as she began to unwrap her presents. Hermione responded with a sleepy nod, tripping on her own presents and falling forward with a yelp. "Ouch. Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I really should watch where I walk," she said, picking herself up, "And Merry Christmas to you as well,"

"All these presents. Wow. A pair of new boots!"

Hermione shook her head in amusement. "Your dad sends new ones every couple of months, though. I still don't understand how you can wear them out so quickly,"

"Well, I think these might last a bit longer," replied Cordelia, holding up a pair of black leather boots that clanked oddly every time they collided, "I think there's metal in these. I guess he was telling the truth when he said he didn't want me to have a rack of shoes by the time I was finished at Hogwarts. Let's see what else we have!"

Hermione had books. And books. And even more books. Large ones. Small ones. Tiny ones. Thick ones. Thin ones. It was a mystery how she was going to keep them all from spilling out of the tiny bookcase that she fitted inside her bedside table. Huginn had given her a surprising Christmas present; a large black quill for her to use, deposited right on top of her stacks of blank parchment.

As for Cordelia, she found that her mother had sent her a set of surgical scalpels. According to the letter that was inside the box, she had been horrified to hear that in potions class they had been – apparently – using rusty, blunt knives to cut up ingredients. Which caused her no end of confusion, as the knives, though somewhat blunt, were definitely not rusty at all. And then she realised that her father had likely been telling tall tales to get her mother to send something useful.

"Thanks, dad," she grinned, putting away the scalpels into her trunk. Those would definitely be useful in potions classes.

The one that she didn't expect, however, was a silver-and-green wrapped box, the size of her hand. Wondering who would have sent such an odd package, she carefully felt it. It was light, and felt strangely padded. Unwrapping it, she let out a gasp of surprise as the package fell apart. There was a silver hairclip inside in the shape of a bird in flight, with a single green jewel where its eye would be. Huginn, spotting the shiny object, squawked indignantly in her cage and pecked insistently on the cage's bars.

"Wow," Cordelia said, picking it up and holding it up to the early morning light. The silver surface had little etchings on it, which glowed with magical power when she ran a finger over them.

"It's...really pretty. Who sent you that?" Hermione asked, sitting down beside her and craning her head to get a better look at the ornament. Cordelia looked over at the pile of discarded wrappings; sure enough, there was a small white-and-green note that was peeking out of the bits of ripped paper.

"Wow. Now I feel guilty about not giving her a gift," muttered Cordelia, blushing faintly.

"Who? I mean, your mum sent you the scalpels...did she send you that, too?"

"No. Daphne did. A gift of appreciation for our 'mutual understanding'? And it's not just a...oh. Oh," she muttered, reading the rest of the note. "Now I know how she could stay so focused in class, even when everyone else is yelling. She always wears one like this, but hers is in the shape of a flower. This isn't just an ordinary hair clip. It's enchanted!"

"Enchanted? How?" said Hermione excitedly.

"Here, try it on," Cordelia replied, smoothing out a bit of Hermione's hair and putting on the hairclip. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes? What's it supposed to do?"

"Hold on, let me do something,"

She fished out a Galleon out of her trunk and held it up to the light, so that it glinted before her raven's eyes. Huginn, naturally, struggled ever harder against the bars of her cage, cawing and croaking as loudly as she could. And yet, Hermione simply sat there instead of grumbling and ranting about loud birds as she normally did.

"Can you hear her?" Cordelia asked excitedly, putting away the Galleon.

"No, I couldn't," answered Hermione, removing the hairclip and handing it back to Cordelia, "What does it do exactly?"

"It's supposed to help you focus on one person or one thing at a time. Everything and everyone else sounds muffled, as long as you want to keep it that way,"

Hermione eyed the clip jealously. "That's...really useful. I could really use that in class,"

"Well, we'll see if we can get you on Daphne's good side, then," giggled Cordelia, "Still, I don't know where she got this from. It looks expensive,"

After pinning the hairclip just above her ear, Cordelia wandered down to the common room, with Hermione trailing just behind her. Both of them were expecting the students to be loudly showing off their Christmas gifts, but neither one had expected them to be _that_ loud. Especially not at seven in the morning, considering how sleepy Gryffindors usually were. Ron was showing off a brand new chess set to Dean, who himself was wearing a new soccer jersey. Fred and George were hunched over something – and she made a silent note to herself to not even ask about what they were up to. They were likely up to no good, which was nothing new at all.

Harry, however, was in an armchair in the corner by himself, seemingly staring at nothing on the table in front of him. A pang of guilt hit both of the girls hard; there they were, excited about their gifts, and Harry seemingly had received nothing.

"Morning Harry," Hermione greeted him, plopping herself down on a stack of cushions beside him.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione. I bet you got a lot of things, right?" he said glumly.

"Well, I only got a few books," she replied, winking at Cordelia. The red-haired girl nodded, though inwardly she thought that a 'few' was most definitely the worst understatement of the year.

"You like books, so that's great, I guess. What about you, Cordelia?"

"Uh," she mumbled, trying to think of how she could downplay the things she had received. No such luck, however, as his eye was instantly drawn to the jewelled hairclip just above her ear. "Er...this hairclip that I'm wearing, and mum sent me a set of scalpels-"

Harry nearly choked. "Scalpels? Why?"

"I think dad pranked her. She said something about not letting me use blunt, rusty knives in potions," she said, chuckling dryly, "I think I'll use them anyway. The knives _are_ kind of blunt, even if they aren't rusty. Oh, and dad sent me a pair of boots. But since they break all the time, I need them, unless the professors won't mind me walking around barefoot,"

Harry snorted at the image of Professor McGonagall somehow tolerating that. Or Snape, for that matter. But that hairclip looked rather strange. Every other Gryffindor had received gifts that were in various shades of red and gold for clothing, but that hairclip looked more appropriate for Draco. Silver and green were Slytherin colours, after all. He wondered who had exactly gifted it to her, but before he could say anything more, a loud crash came from the boys' dormitory.

Near the landing to the dormitory, sprawled out on the floor with a messily-wrapped box in front of it, was a grubby-looking little creature. With bulbous eyes that were bulging almost precariously out of its lumpy, wrinkled head, Cordelia had to wonder exactly what it was. Even if it was about as attractive as a troll, at least it didn't have such a terrible smell – and that it wasn't about to whack a student with a club the size of a small tree. It scrambled back to its feet and collected the package again, before zipping off towards Fred and George.

"Excuse me, sirs," the creature spoke to the nearest twin in a dreadfully high-pitched voice, "Dinky would like to know which is Mister Potty,"

Both twins blinked and burst into a bout of sniggers. "Mister Potty? I think we'll have to remember that one, won't we, Fred?" George chortled, "Mister Potty is the one in the corner, over there,"

"Thank you, kind sirs!" it quipped, and in a flash the creature was already in front of Harry, carrying the box. Only then did Harry realise that there was more than just one box in its arms; there was a small package, barely bigger than a letter, and a box-shaped package that looked as though it had been squashed and then pulled back to shape rather roughly.

"Er—can I help?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"No, no, Dinky is fine! Dinky is here to deliver little gifty boxies. Dinky has been slow, Dinky did not get to Mister Potty in time to deliver gifties!"

Harry's eyes lit up. "You mean I actually have gifts?"

"Dinky has three packages that he must deliver. Here you are, good sir!"

The creature – whatever it was – placed the packages in front of him and vanished with a thunderclap-like crack. Harry, stunned, scooped up the boxes. "Let's see whose these are..." he muttered, unwrapping them.

Petunia had strangely not forgotten about Harry's Christmas gift, although whether or not it could be considered a gift was debatable. Both Hermione and Cordelia gawked in disbelief when a fifty-pence piece fell out of the tiny package. "I can't believe what I just saw," Cordelia gasped.

Harry shrugged, saying that it wasn't such a big deal. "Better than being stuffed in a cupboard under the stairs all winter," he remarked bitterly.

His next gift wasn't that much better, but at least it was the thought that counted. Hagrid had sent him a rock cake, with a note saying that he _may_ have accidentally sat on it, but it was still good to eat. But considering that a gigantic man had sat on the cake and left it mostly still in one piece, Hermione muttered that it shouldn't be eaten unless someone wanted to end up in the hospital wing with broken teeth.

And then the last gift left him confused. He unwrapped the box...and saw nothing. Well, _nearly_ nothing. Narrowing his eyes, he could barely make out the vague outline of something shimmering inside, like the heat haze above a cauldron. He carefully reached in, feeling rather strange as his fingers wrapped around something that felt much like cool water – and yet, there was nothing to be seen.

Of both his fingers – or whatever he was holding on to. With a gasp of surprise, he pulled back his hand and looked at his fingers. They were still there, still whole and not at all removed from his body.

"Is that...?" Hermione said, in a hushed voice, "Is that what I think it is?"

"What's that?" asked Cordelia, poking at the cloth and recoiling at the weird sensation.

"I've only read about them. Invisibility cloaks. Supposedly, they're very, very rare, and extremely expensive,"

That only made Harry more confused. If it was really that valuable, who had sent it to him? And why? He ran his fingers over the cloak absent-mindedly, thinking about who might possibly have sent it to him; and as he did so, he felt something more solid underneath it.

"There's a note," he murmured, shaking out the cloak and finding a small folded note tucked inside it. "Apparently...this used to be my father's,"

"Well, I guess it's really yours now, isn't it?" beamed Cordelia, giving Harry a brief hug. "I wonder what you could do with it, though? I mean, if whatever it covers becomes invisible..."

Hermione gave a pointed glare in the direction of the Weasley twins. "You might want to hide it before Fred and George have some ideas,"

"Good point," Harry said, carefully placing it back inside the box. As he took his presents back to the boys' dormitory (minus the rock cake, which Cordelia insisted she would try to eat if he wouldn't, much to Hermione's chagrin), he could not help but wonder exactly who had sent him the cloak. Or rather, _why_ he had been sent the cloak. It wasn't as though he would be dragged out to another midnight duel with Malfoy any time soon, so why would he need it?

And even stranger was the fact that this cloak – his father's cloak – had been in someone's care, and not in the Potter vaults in Gringotts. Surely, if it was that valuable, it would have been stored in the most secure location possible. And if whoever was holding it for him was so honest as to not steal it, then why would they need to hide their name from him? There was no signature on the note, nor anything to say who it was from. Truthfully, the more he thought about it, the less that it made sense – and the bigger the headache that he had.

* * *

A/N:

Welp. Muse gone AWOL, hopefully she's going to be back for longer this time.

There may be a timeskip in the future as the story diverges from canon. And I'm pretty sure that nobody wants a retelling of a fic with a plus-one. The groundwork for the relationships between the characters are set; it's probably time to put them to the test.

Dragon Man 180: For the life of me, I can't see how Madam Pomfrey's reaction was heartwarming. When I wrote that part, it was Madam Pomfrey being analytical (as is required in her role of healer), and with a notion of duty-of-care for an injured student. She does nothing more and nothing less than that.

As for the cooperation with Daphne; as long as Cordelia (and Hermione) prove themselves capable, there's little reason for Daphne to terminate her cooperation. After all, she's all about obtaining information in exchange for information - or power for power, if you will.

Bob of the A: Yep, Hermione's character is a swotty teacher's pet kind, and Ron's that sloppy runt kid that hangs around cool guys to soak up some of their 'cool factor'. Not that it actually works out too well, but hey, he's welcome to keep trying.

KyuubiNoPuma: There's a snake hiding in the green grass. Quick, find the infiltrating spy!


	14. 14 - Discoveries

The rest of the winter holidays crept by for Cordelia and Hermione. On most days, the pair were absorbed in reading through the various books that Hermione had received. Some, like those on potioncrafting theory, were immensely useful. Snape had never taught them the finer points on how exactly to brew potions to perfection, preferring students to make mistakes before correcting them; and it was a huge relief to find a whole book on efficient and safe ingredient preparation methods. After all, an exploding cauldron was the last thing either of them wanted. Especially in Snape's presence.

Other books were...well, purely for entertainment purposes. Filled with fanciful stories of light wizards conquering dark lords, or the like. She hadn't thought that Hermione would have been someone that liked reading those kinds of books, but the deep blush that she sported after she had been asked about her choice of fiction spoke volumes of how much of a guilty pleasure they were for her. Granted, they _were_ rather well-written, and it was even better that most of them had moving illustrations on certain pages.

"You know, it's almost term again," sighed Cordelia, closing a book on transfiguration and reaching for a Chocolate Frog from her bedside table and unwrapping it. "I can't believe how fast time flies,"

"M-hm," Hermione murmured back absent-mindedly, engrossed in a book of her own.

"I still don't know where Harry's gone all this time. I haven't seen him anywhere aside from mealtimes. I wonder what he is up to?"

The bushy-haired girl looked up from her book. "Now that you mention it, I haven't seen him either," she said, raising an eyebrow, "I wonder if it's got anything to do with the invisibility cloak that he's got. I mean, you know what he did with Ron – sneaking around at midnight to duel Malfoy. Who knows what other things he's been thinking up these days?"

Cordelia shrugged, devouring the chocolate treat in front of her in a couple of bites. It was hardly filling, but at eleven in the morning, the Great Hall still didn't have any food available just yet. She tossed the wrapper into a small basket by Huginn's cage, where it joined a veritable mountain of other wrappers.

"You know, you probably shouldn't eat so much chocolate. It's not good for your teeth," Hermione said, looking with a bit of trepidation at the basket of still-unopened candies and sweets on Cordelia's bed. The amount of sugar that was piled there was already making her more than a little queasy; it was probably more than she had in a whole year.

"But they're so tasty! And they're probably still better for my teeth than Hagrid's cakes," whined the girl.

Hermione shuddered. She recalled the cakes sitting in a bowl of hot chocolate for over an hour, and they _still_ were rock hard. Just marginally less so, after the end of it. "'Better' doesn't mean they're good for you,"

"I know. But still," she countered lamely, taking a look at the card that she had gotten. It was one of the gold-trimmed cards, which indicated its higher-than-normal rarity; something which she had not gotten before. "Ooh. This looks...different..."

Her jaw dropped when she saw what was on the card. Or rather, _who_ was on the card.

"Hermione," she said slowly, lifting up the card, "I think we might have the answer to who Mr. Flamel is,"

* * *

"You're kidding me," Harry mouthed, when both of the girls confronted him about the true identity of Mr. Flamel, "He's over six hundred years old?"

Cordelia nodded, and added in a hushed voice, "And we think we know what he's got hidden in Hogwarts, Harry. The Philosopher's Stone,"

"You're sure about this? I mean, he could've just had something else that needed to be hidden in a safe spot,"

"Harry," huffed Hermione, "There's a reason why Gringotts is considered the safest place in all of Britain, except for possibly Hogwarts. Haven't you read that anywhere? Thieves that try to break into vaults get sucked into them, and the goblins don't check what's inside vaults unless their clients actually ask for them to do it. Somebody could be stuck there for years before anyone would find out,"

Harry's face paled at the thought. "So they would actually...die?"

"Yes. Unless you somehow brought so much food and water with you that you could live inside for years,"

"So whatever was in the vaults was something so valuable, someone would risk their lives for it," finished Cordelia.

"What does the stone do, anyway?"

Hermione and Cordelia shared a look. "It...lets you turn any metal to gold," Hermione muttered, "And it lets you brew a potion that extends your life. I think you know exactly why it's so well-guarded, Harry. It's very powerful. Unlimited money and life,"

"And Snape was trying to get his hands on it,"

Snape. It was always Snape, with Harry. Sure, Cordelia also disliked the man as much as Snape disliked everyone that wasn't in Slytherin. But Snape's dislike for Harry was legendary in all of Hogwarts – a dislike that was returned in kind by Harry. But for all they knew, Snape was as likely to be with Professor Dumbledore as he was against him. There was simply not enough that they knew about the man.

"We don't know that for sure, Harry," sighed Hermione.

Harry looked lost in thought afterwards, and then nodded slowly. "Maybe you're right. But I'm going to find out for sure. If the Stone is that powerful, we need to keep it out of everyone's hands-"

"Harry, I think the teachers have that under control. We probably shouldn't even dig any more into this," pleaded Cordelia. She looked to Hermione for support, and smiled when the other girl nodded vigorously. "Besides, term is about to start again. We really should focus on studying. You're falling behind on Potions again,"

Harry snorted. "Since when does Snape even give me a fair mark? Look, if you two don't want to help me find out more about this, that's fine. I'll find out on my own,"

* * *

Even after term had started, Harry was still nowhere to be seen after dinner. Every morning, he would turn up late at breakfast, with bags under his eyes clearly showing his exhaustion. Yet nobody saw him enter or leave Gryffindor tower. When Cordelia had asked the Fat Lady about whether or not she had seen Harry, she had squawked out an indignant reply about 'keeping students' privacy'. Which left both Hermione and Cordelia puzzled as to what exactly Harry was looking for at night. Asking him themselves only resulted in him giving evasive answers, which did very little to help them understand exactly what he was doing.

Nor were they terribly interested in knowing when March rolled around – and the piles of homework crashed onto their brains with all the fury of a thousand angry mountain trolls. Though the days were warming up again, and the sun shining on the green grass around the lake was enticing, all of the students knew that the exams were just around the corner. And that they needed to pass in order to graduate to the next year group. And so they found themselves in Gryffindor tower's reading room along with virtually every other Gryffindor student, slaving away over piles of homework.

"Hermione, come on, I already said sorry, okay?" Ron pleaded with an irate Hermione, much to Cordelia's amusement, "Can't you share some of your notes with me?"

"An apology isn't going to be enough, Ronald Weasley!" she hissed, "I tried to teach you in lessons, only for you to insult me. Haven't you forgotten Halloween?"

"That was ages ago! I already said I was sorry, okay?"

"It still doesn't change the fact that you don't learn anything by copying, Ron. Do you really think that the teachers would let you bring in notes to an exam? Or if you could even read them without being caught?"

Though Ron had buried the hatchet with Hermione, the studious witch was less willing to immediately forgive Ron. After all, it was fairly clear what Ron was trying to gain by befriending her. The boy's grades had been sinking like lead-weighted rocks after Hermione had decided to sit with Harry for every class. A particularly colourful Howler from his mother arriving on one morning regarding his perpetually low marks had left him very shaken indeed, and he had been rather disturbingly persistent about getting on Hermione's good side since then.

Cordelia's attention drifted away from the bickering pair. Her own notes were scrawled out on lengths of parchment, spilling out all over the desk in front of her. Her inkwell was almost dry, and her quill was starting to split. Why she couldn't have a simple stack of paper and ballpoint pens, she wouldn't know; but she chalked it up to another one of those wizarding world oddities that she would have to learn about.

Nevertheless, she found her concentration broken when a regal-looking tawny owl started pecking at the window to her side. She unlocked the window, and let it fly to her table. It thrust out its leg as soon as it had landed, hooting imperiously.

"Okay, okay, I'll get the letter off you," she said placatingly, wincing when the owl pecked her finger for not moving fast enough.

 _Meet me tonight. Usual place, usual time. Bring some brambles not struck by lightning._

 _-D_

Cordelia grimaced as she tried hard to suppress a giggle. She looked up across the table; Hermione's hair was a veritable birds' nest, looking like it was a thornless, fluffy shrub with quills poking out whichever way one looked. Brambles, all in all, was a rather apt nickname for her. Especially just before an exam.

"Who's it from, Cordelia?" Hermione asked. Cordelia simply slid the note to her, and this time couldn't help but snort when Hermione's face flushed scarlet.

"Brambles?!"

* * *

"It is good to see you all well," Daphne spoke, locking the door as the pair of Gryffindors slipped into the empty classroom. "I hope that your studies are all going well?"

"There's a lot of things to cover. I still haven't revised the Charms that we've learned for the last three months, and I really wish that I'd started studying a month earlier-"

"Breathe, Hermione, breathe," Cordelia chuckled, "You've studied more than we all have so far. You're not going to fail,"

"Yes. You have been getting top marks in literally every class, Granger. I don't think that you would even be at risk of failing," said Daphne, rolling her eyes. However, her expression soon grew serious. "If you are still worried, I do not think I would object to another study session here. But that's for later. I asked for both of you here, without Potter, for a reason. I need to tell you both of something,"

Both girls were now listening intently. Daphne usually demanded information or study assistance in exchange for information. If she was giving it without asking for anything, it had to be serious.

"I overheard Malfoy in the common room about Hagrid somehow acquiring a dragon's egg,"

"Wait—A DRAGON'S EGG!?" shouted Hermione, "They're illegal!"

"Keep your voice down!" hissed Daphne, "Yes, a dragon's egg. And yes, they are very much illegal. One could be sent to Azkaban for possessing one without a dragon keeper's license. If Hagrid was competent enough to recognise dangerous creatures for what they are, I would not be too worried about him even attempting to hatch it. But knowing Hagrid..."

She trailed off, and the three of them shared a knowing look. The Hogwarts gamekeeper's idea of a 'pet' was usually something that would burn, sting or eat your face. A creature that was tame and adorable usually counted as 'boring' for him; the deadlier they were, the better. And among the magical creatures, a dragon was usually classed as one of the deadliest.

"So...has he tried to hatch it yet...?"

Daphne nodded. "I suspect so. Dragon eggs require high temperatures to hatch. It is long past the coldest days of winter now, and Hagrid's hut still has smoke pouring out of his chimney at all hours. Unless the man is somehow that intolerant of cold, I doubt that his fireplace has any good reason to be on all day and night. The only explanation is that he is attempting to hatch the egg of a dragon, which does require constant, intense heat,"

"How do we know that Malfoy's telling the truth? He could be just spinning rumours to get Hagrid removed," Hermione argued back half-heartedly, desperately trying to believe that a Hogwarts staff member could not possibly be so foolish.

"He's been telling everyone that would so much as stop near him," Daphne said, shrugging, "If he was not certain, he would not risk losing face by spreading false rumours. That, and that Ronald Weasley has been talking loudly in the corridors again about a certain baby dragon about to be on Hogwarts grounds. I would ask you to shut him up by stuffing something into his mouth, but word has it that Weasley has an undetectable Extension Charm on his mouth. How else could he shovel in so much food into his mouth without choking?"

Cordelia snorted in amusement. "Thanks, Daphne. We really needed to hear that,"

"It's only the truth, Cordelia. Weasley's lack of table manners is second only to yours,"

"Hey!"

"Well, I can say that you do eat a little too fast, Cordelia," Hermione smirked in amusement, "You have a bit of gravy on your nose, by the way,"

"Wha—ugh, that always happens," she groaned, fishing for a handkerchief from inside her robes.

"There's no need to do that— _Scourgify_!" Hermione called out, giving her wand a flick. Cordelia yelped as her nose was engulfed in thick, fluffy soap bubbles, which vanished as soon as they had appeared. There was no longer any gravy on her nose, but it was now a bright, shiny red. "Oops. I think I overdid it a little,"

"I say that it was done just well enough, Granger," Daphne laughed, "Sorry, Cordelia, but Granger has my approval for this one. Still, I did not drag you both here just to let you know about the fact that Hagrid probably has a dragon egg, or that he's about to get a baby dragon. If Hagrid has even a single ounce of common sense, he would get rid of the dragon somehow. There's no way that he could possibly keep that dragon, especially when it grows up,"

"But how? It's not like we could tell Hagrid that he needs to smash the egg. He'd be devastated!"

Daphne hummed, cradling her face thoughtfully. "Not to mention illegal. Dragons are endangered species after all, and killing a juvenile one or smashing an egg is punishable by a prison sentence in Azkaban. You would need to remove it without killing it. I recall my father saying that one of the older Weasleys is a dragon-keeper in another country. Perhaps you could talk to one of the Weasleys and see if you could secure his help?"

"I'm not exactly on good terms with Ron, you know," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms, "And I don't think I could trust the twins with something like this,"

"And Percy would just go straight to Professor Dumbledore," added Cordelia, remembering how the pompous prefect of Gryffindor always seemed so eager to please the professors.

"Well, then you know what you need to do, don't you, Granger?"

Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Why Ron? Why me? Why can't you tell Harry yourself?"

"Because unlike the twins, he is quite close to Potter, and would be less likely to tell a professor; and I don't think you need an explanation as to why asking Percy Weasley is a terrible idea. As for why I won't tell Potter myself, it's because he is impulsive and tends to act before he thinks. Falling for Malfoy's midnight duel challenge is just the first of his many issues; I am confident that neither of you two would make the same mistake," she said smoothly, "And before you ask; I am not telling you all this because I like Hagrid. I do this to ruin Malfoy's plans. Helping a common friend of Cordelia's and yours is just an incidental bonus. After all, Potter does spend much time with that giant man. I'm fairly certain that if Hagrid were to be removed, Potter would be devastated,"

Hermione gave Daphne a sharp look of disapproval. "That's really not a good reason to help,"

Giving Hermione an insufferably confident smirk, Daphne tapped on the silver-and-emerald hairpin nestled just above her own ear. "Well, perhaps I _could_ be convinced to give a better reason for you to help me..."

* * *

A/N:

A shortish chapter this time. Setting up things to come in future chapters.

-gives Daphne puppeteer strings- Manipulate ALL the friends~!

Dragon Man 180: Ah, so that's what you meant. Also, Hagrid's rock cakes are probably just rocks coated in dough. But we shall never know!


	15. 15 - Misdirection

Daphne was grinning from ear to ear back in her dorm. It had been all too easy to convince that Granger girl to do as she was asked to do, with the promise of a hairpin with muffling runes engraved on it. Sure, she would be out quite a few Galleons for a couple of weeks; they weren't exactly cheap to begin with, and her father would likely ask a few questions as to why she would need another not long after acquiring one for her Potions partner and friend. Not to mention that to have it owled to Hogwarts – with Gringotts package insurance – would likely cost her what was left of her pocket money for the rest of the month. But to see Malfoy's plans foiled, without any risk to herself? It was worth every Knut and problem that she might face.

"You know, you keep grinning like that, Daph, and you might just make people think you're up to something," giggled Tracey Davis from the bed beside hers.

"Maybe I am. Maybe I am not," she replied, giving Tracey a sly smirk. She squeaked in shock when Tracey leapt off her bed and landed right into hers, pulling the drapings closed before she could react. She said crossly, "Tracey, what is the-"

"Oh, lighten up, Daph," the girl said with glint in her eyes, barely veiled curiosity gleaming within. "I know you're planning something. As your friend, I just want to know what it is. Does it involve that Flynn girl? Or Granger?"

"Maybe," Daphne said, putting on a straight face. She wondered if Tracey was just blindly guessing, or if she actually knew. If she knew, there was a chance that Malfoy also knew – and that would put a stop to her scheme to disrupt whatever Malfoy had planned.

"Ha! I knew it!" Tracey said triumphantly, leaving Daphne utterly confused. "You know, you really have to work on holding a straight face, Daph,"

"Was I that obvious?"

"M-hm. Totally obvious. One minute you were playful, and then you went all serious. If you didn't have anything planned with those two, you wouldn't go all serious so quickly,"

"Well, at the very least I did not fail in front of Malfoy," sighed Daphne.

"He wouldn't see it if it hit him," Tracey laughed, waving her off. "Or his two goons. You know, Crabbe and Goyle. Anyway, you know that you don't have to hide anything from me, Daph. Our families have always been friends. What's bothering you now? It's Malfoy again, isn't it?"

"I suppose that is true. Sorry, Tracey. And yes, it is to do with Malfoy,"

The mere mention of the silver-haired ferret filled Daphne's mouth with bile. The nerve of that git! Suggesting that she would eventually become his _property_ , owing to his foolish idea that her father would be so easily convinced to allow a betrothal contract between herself and him! And all that after he insulted her family, which was also another Most Ancient and Noble House, just like his own. If only she knew more hexes and curses that she could use without anybody else seeing her, she would have sent him to the hospital wing herself.

"I hope what you have planned works, Daph. I know half of Slytherin sticks up for him, but honestly, I wouldn't mind seeing him eating dirt once in a while. What have you got planned for him, anyway? Tell me, tell me!"

The smaller brunette girl tackled her into her bed and began tickling her, causing the normally-composed Daphne to break down into fits of giggles.

"Alright, alright!" Daphne gasped, wriggling free of Tracey's relentless assault, "You know how Malfoy has something against the youngest Weasley and Potter?"

"Who doesn't? It's not like he's kept it secret,"

"Well, let's just say that Malfoy has found out that both of those boys found out something that they shouldn't. And Malfoy knows about it. What do you think he wants to do?"

Tracey hummed. "I think he'd want to get those two into trouble. Make them lose a few house points-"

"Only house points? He would rather get them expelled if he could. And trust me on this one, what those two discovered would go _much_ further than that," Daphne smirked. She leaned in and whispered into Tracey's ear, "That gamekeeper in the forest, supposedly, has a dragon. Well...not quite a dragon. But a dragon's egg. And he's been trying to hatch it for some time,"

"No way," Tracey gasped in disbelief, "A dragon?"

Daphne nodded. "A dragon. I don't know how you haven't heard about it from Malfoy, considering that he has been talking about it every night to everyone in the common room. Anyway, you are aware of the laws against keeping dragons, correct? Being kept in Azkaban for a couple of years would be the lightest you could get away with for illegally breeding them,"

"But that would only affect Hagrid. And I don't think anyone would miss him,"

"I wouldn't. And I'm sure you wouldn't. But Potter and Weasley do care about him, and if Hagrid is removed from Hogwarts, then Malfoy wins, and his head grows bigger than it already is. Merlin, can you imagine that?"

"Nope," replied Tracey, popping the 'p', "I hope you know what you're doing, though. I heard from dad that people who help criminals get into trouble too. You're sure you won't get caught?"

"I can't, because I don't have a hand in it. Let's just say that I...suggested things,"

Tracey's eyes lit up in understanding and she grinned. "Oooooh. Riiiight. Now I know what you mean! Daph, you naughty, naughty girl. Do your own dirty work!"

"Hush, you. Let's just sit back and watch what happens over the next few weeks,"

* * *

The next few weeks were, depending on how Daphne looked at it, both terrible and amazingly brilliant. For one, Slytherin had lost to Gryffindor in Quidditch again, in a most spectacular fashion. Harry had caught the Snitch in record time, barely minutes after the game had started. Malfoy had shot the Weasley boy quite a few insults after that match, and the boy snapped and started a brawl. Both the insufferable loudmouth – and the slightly less insufferable loudmouth – had landed in the hospital wing with quite a few detentions apiece, Weasley sporting a split lip and Malfoy a black eye. She had to suppress a smirk when Professor McGonagall shouted at Malfoy for picking a fight with Weasley, but that smirk soon faded when she realised what the second Quidditch defeat against Gryffindor meant.

A lot of frustration from the older Slytherins being vented on younger ones, and gloating from all of the other houses of Hogwarts.

It was a good thing she had her Muffling Hairpin. She could walk around without really listening to any of the remarks made by other houses, and she could sit in the Slytherin common room and not be bothered by the Quidditch-based idle chatter around her. Rather, she could still be focused on the one person she really wanted to target.

Malfoy.

And so far, Malfoy hadn't made a move, or displayed any sort of annoyance that would show that his goals had been foiled. It made her mildly irritated, to be sure. But a Greengrass knew when to bide her time and wait for results. After all, she had to wait for the oafish gamekeeper's egg to hatch before anything would happen.

That day came sooner than expected. As she and Tracey were strolling along the side of the Black Lake after dinner, she caught sight of Cordelia, Granger, Weasley and Potter all walking hurriedly down the Herbology path.

"Hm. That's Granger and Cordelia...and Potter and Weasley," she murmured. "I wonder if that means what I think it does,"

"I don't know. Maybe you should find out?" grinned Tracey.

"That would be the plan. Tracey, I think you should head back to the Slytherin common room. If someone asks, I'm taking a longer walk than usual for some fresh air,"

"Okay, Daph! Don't get caught,"

Daphne gave Tracey a small smile and nodded. Her friend was exceptionally good at covering up for her whenever she needed to disappear for a while. After all, nobody suspected the bubbly and cheerful girl of doing anything harmful, even if she _was_ a Slytherin. Turning towards Hagrid's hut, she started off on a brisk jog. Hopefully she could catch up to them, before anyone else could-

"Greengrass? What are you doing out here?"

That was the one voice she really did not want to hear at that time. She was already halfway to Hagrid's hut, on the grassy field past the Herbology greenhouses, and of all the people she had to run into, it was Malfoy. No doubt out to get Harry and Ron.

"Heir Malfoy," she replied coolly, "I could ask you the same question,"

He sneered. "I don't have to answer to you,"

"And I don't have to answer to you, either. But one does have to wonder why the well-brought-up Heir Malfoy has to skulk about after dinner. If you would like, I could ask the house-elves to bring you a second meal. Clearly, you haven't been offered enough if you were looking for some greens from the greenhouses,"

He blinked twice, glancing at the greenhouses before narrowing his eyes on her. "Watch what you say, Greengrass,"

She shrugged in mock apology. "I meant no offense, Heir Malfoy. It was only a...friendly offer. Now, I should like to continue my evening walk. Goodbye,"

Without another word, she stalked off, leaving Malfoy behind. Once she had reached Hagrid's hut, she looked back over her shoulder. The blond ferret was back at the castle courtyard, walking back to the castle. Though a part of her was relieved, she still knew that there was trouble yet to come. Malfoy, for all his faults, was still persistent when it came to getting what he wanted out of anyone.

That persistence was what worried her. He was rarely outside for any reason at all; much less so without his brutish bodyguards. Considering his presence not too far away from Potter and his friends, and she had more than a little suspicion that he knew about Potter's plans – whatever they were. And that meant a very high risk of Malfoy ruining it.

By a stroke of incredible luck, Granger and Cordelia walked out of the hut. Both were sweating profusely; a sure sign that Hagrid still had the fireplace going inside, despite the warm night.

"Granger. Cordelia. We need to talk," she whispered, causing the two to jump, "Now, if you don't mind,"

"Daphne? What's-"

"Not now, Cordelia. I need to know what your plans are for getting rid of the dragon,"

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Malfoy. He was following you here. At least he was, until I came across him," Daphne said, glancing towards the sky. The sun had well and truly set by then, shrouding the entire school grounds in shadows. "By the time I arrived here, he was already back in the castle. Which is why I need to know how exactly do you plan to smuggle the dragon out of here,"

"Ron's brother, Charlie, is coming to collect it. Well, his friends are," Granger explained, "They're already waiting at the top of the Astronomy Tower,"

Daphne blinked. "And do tell, how do you intend to smuggle a baby dragon all the way up the Astronomy Tower? That's a few hundred steps with a heavy load. You'll be loud, and very, very visible to anyone that's not blind and deaf,"

"I'll be the one carrying the crate," Cordelia huffed, "And Harry's got an Invisibility Cloak,"

An Invisibility Cloak. That was something very powerful, and very, very rare. But if Potter really had one, then at least being spotted was less of a possibility. Still, she couldn't shake off her doubts about the plan. "Fine. Suppose you do make it to the top of the Astronomy Tower. How would you come back down? Malfoy might be less thorough than I am, but he is still a Slytherin. You'll need a distraction to keep him away,"

At this point, Hermione and Cordelia shared a grin. "We've got that covered. Come inside, you'll see,"

She felt herself be dragged into Hagrid's hut by both Cordelia and Hermione. The half-giant inside boomed at her with clear surprise. "Harry ain't said nothing about you comin' here!"

"Don't worry, Hagrid, she's with us," Hermione said reassuringly. Hagrid nodded slowly, though he still looked at Daphne with suspicion.

"Righ'. Well, I got ter admit, you ain't exactly the sort of friend that I thought Harry would have. Come in,"

"It is always because I'm in Slytherin, isn't it?" Daphne groused.

She wiped a hand across her sweating brow. The room was like a furnace; the roaring fireplace looked about ready to spill out onto the wooden floor. It was a miracle that nothing had decided to catch alight yet; especially considering the fact that dragons liked to breathe fire. That, and there were two seemingly identical crates near the fireplace, with Potter and Weasley stooping over it, arms deep in whatever was inside. A closer look showed Daphne that both were filled with-

"Pine cones?" Daphne said, looking at Hermione questioningly, "Two crates full of...pine cones? Really?"

"Yep. Professor McGonagall knows that both me and Hermione practice Transfiguration on pine cones. She wouldn't ask any questions if she saw me carrying lots of these, because they...uh...blow up after a couple of uses. And it's not like pine cones aren't allowed into the castle,"

"This still seems a little unsafe, but at least you seem to have given it some thought. Where's the dragon?"

Hermione grimaced. "He's inside this crate. I've gotten a small bottle of Draught of Living Death from Fred in exchange for a favour, and some Shrinking Solution as well. We tested the Shrinking Solution on him a couple of days back, and it looks like dragons don't shrink as much as we'd like. It only shrank to the size of an orange, and we can't exactly carry it around in a pocket,"

"So you put it to sleep and put it inside one of the crates, putting pine cones over it," finished Daphne, "It wouldn't make noises, and it wouldn't need to eat or drink...or...go to the lavatory. And it would be much lighter to carry as well. As much as I hate to admit it, I have you wrong, Granger. You and Cordelia are very well prepared for this. But what if someone searches the crates?"

"They'd find only pine cones," Potter spoke, finally standing up and dusting himself off, "The dragon- Norbert, sorry, Hagrid – is wrapped up in my invisibility cloak, right at the bottom of the crate. Unless they were to empty the whole crate, they'd find nothing,"

"Yeah. Unless the snake is going to tell the teachers about it," Ron grumbled, eyeing Daphne with clear distrust in his eyes.

"Why would I want to throw my friends into detention, or worse?" Daphne said, lifting her hands up in surrender. As much as provoking Weasley into a fight would have been satisfying, it wouldn't have helped anyone. "Look, if you are going to move the crate up to the Astronomy Tower, you would best start now. It's a long walk back to the castle,"

Fortunately for them, a shrunk dragon and pine cones weren't terribly heavy. Well, the pine cones weren't heavy for normal people – but with Cordelia's apparently absurd strength, lifting the dragon-filled crate looked about as easy as lifting those that were filled by just pine cones. It would have drawn too much attention if one of them looked heavier than the other, after all. It didn't take terribly long before they found themselves heading back up the marble staircase to the castle's entrance hall, crates in tow.

Only to run into Malfoy, almost as soon as they put a single foot through the doorway. An irritated-looking Professor McGonagall was right behind him, looking as though she had been needled and pestered into coming with him.

"What have you got in the boxes, Potter?" he sneered, "A baby dragon?"

Professor McGonagall took one look at the boxes in Cordelia's and Hermione's arms and stared incredulously at Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy. If this is a joke, I do not see anything amusing about it," she said, "A baby dragon? In those boxes? They look barely large enough to hold an adult dog, let alone something as large as a dragon!"

"I wasn't joking, Professor. They're moving dragons. Look!" he said. Before any of them could even blink, Malfoy had snatched off the lid from the box that Hermione was carrying – only to cause a few pine cones to roll out of the boxes and fall to the floor with a soft clatter. Malfoy could only gawk stupidly at the sight in front of him. No dragons were to be seen a. Only pine cones. And more pine cones.

"Dragons. Really, Heir Malfoy?" Daphne sighed, "Have you been taking any potions that we should not hear about? If so, Madam Pomfrey should really examine you for any problems,"

"No! It has to be here!" he howled, snatching off the lid from the box in Cordelia's arms and raking a few more pine cones out of that box. There was, naturally, no dragon to be seen. "I saw it! I saw the dragon in Hagrid's hut! Potter and Weasley were going to smuggle it out. I read Weasley's note! It said everything!"

"Mr. Malfoy! Enough!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "Accusing a fellow student of misbehaviour is one thing, but to accuse them of carrying an illegal magical creature? And to accuse a staff member as well? Outrageous! Why, in all my years of teaching, I've never heard of such a thing! I will speak to Professor Snape regarding this incident, and you are coming with me. Fifty points from Slytherin for throwing around such a grave, baseless accusation; and if you do not stop adding to the mess on the floor, it will be more!"

Malfoy was soon dragged away by the ear by Professor McGonagall, who marched towards the dungeon, fuming. As soon as they were out of earshot, all five of them burst into laughter. Harry and Ron in particular looked as though Christmas had come early.

"Oh, that was worth every point lost to Slytherin," Daphne choked out, "That look on Malfoy's face was absolutely priceless,"

"You're telling me! A dragon, in _these_ boxes? He must be utterly mad!" giggled Hermione, who gave Daphne a knowing wink. "Anyway, let's get these back to our...practice rooms,"

With Malfoy taken away by Professor McGonagall, there seemed to be nothing else that could possibly go wrong. Daphne nodded to Hermione, trusting that everything was now under control. After all, without Malfoy, his two goons couldn't possibly come up with a plan of their own. Their goal was secure. "Well, you do what you have to. I will need to head back to the Slytherin dorms before anyone starts to miss me. Stay safe during your...practice session,"

* * *

A/N:

Well, it's been a while since I've gotten around to writing anything. Things have been incredibly busy on my end, but I certainly haven't forgotten about this story.

Bob of the A: Nobody really knows what Hagrid's plan was for the dragon. A better question would be, DOES he even HAVE a plan? He's the sort of guy that would look after any creature, without thinking about how he's going to take care of it when it grows bigger.

Dragon Man 180: The Mirror is more a Harry character development thing. I don't want to rehash that, as it would be mostly unchanged.


	16. 16 - End of the Year

Daphne couldn't believe what she had heard in the Great Hall a few days later. Or saw, in case of the house point hourglasses in the entrance hall. Gryffindor had lost a hundred and fifty points on the night after the dragon's removal; and the point loss was most certainly not a mistake, as the sorry little pile of rubies did not grow any higher by the morning after.

The oafish Gryffindors – Potter and Weasley – had somehow managed to botch even the most well-planned of plans. Hermione and Cordelia had disappeared with the box that actually contained the pine cones, which they transfigured into miniature Quaffles in the Gryffindor common room. That was according to plan, as it would lend credibility to their story that the boxes only contained pine cones for Transfiguration practice. With most of Gryffindor able to confirm that they were simply making balls, those two were safe from any investigation.

But the other two. Merlin, she could strangle them. According to Hermione, they had arrived at the Astronomy Tower under the cloak, as was planned. No teacher saw them on the way up; in fact, not a soul was present anywhere near the Astronomy Tower. No, it was not in carrying the dragon-filled crate that they were caught; rather, it was when they were descending from the Tower that they were caught.

The idiots had forgotten to wear their Invisibility Cloak on the way back down. How they could have forgotten about such an artifact was beyond her, but somehow, the two boys had managed to do it. They came back down, uncloaked, and were caught by Filch at the tower's exit.

The very thought of them doing something so stupid was, in fact, so outlandish that she had to make sure that they weren't just rumours. On the usual empty period after Potions, she asked for Hermione and Cordelia to come to the empty classroom on the sixth floor. A short explanation from them later, and she was left completely dumbfounded by just how careless the two boys were.

"So, what happened afterwards?" Daphne asked, passing Hermione her promised hairpin.

"They served detention with Hagrid on Monday," she replied in a hushed voice, "They...they saw...something very horrible,"

"That isn't very specific,"

"Harry said that...he saw something stooped over a dead unicorn," Cordelia added, "Something that was drinking its blood,"

Daphne frowned. "Drinking unicorn blood? I have only heard of unicorn tail hairs being used in wand cores, and read of unicorn horns being used in potions. But their blood?"

"One of the centaurs in the forest, one that saved Harry from being attacked by whatever that blood-drinking thing was...he said something about unicorn blood being able to keep someone alive, even if they were very close to death. But he also said that doing that would curse them for as long as they lived,"

"We think – well, Harry thinks – that Voldemort-"

"Do not say his name!" hissed Daphne, flinching.

"Oops. Sorry, Daphne. I mean, Harry thinks that You-Know-Who's still alive. Somehow,"

Silence fell on the three of them. "Alive. Really?"

"It makes sense," Hermione blurted out, listing reasons off on her fingers, "Unicorn blood curses whoever drinks it. The curse is apparently bad enough that whoever drinks it would wish that they were dead; unless they were planning to use something even more powerful that would make them whole again. I had a read through several history books on the modern wizarding world, and not a single one said that You-Know-Who's body was ever found. That could mean that he's still out there. And who else could be so desperate to drink blood that would curse them forever, or be certain that he could find a more permanent solution?"

"I suppose all that does make a bit of sense..." murmured Daphne.

"So does this mean you'll help us find out more?" Cordelia cried out hopefully.

The Slytherin girl shook her head. "No. Not with examinations this close by. If you have not started studying, I would suggest that you start now. There's quite a bit that we have to go through,"

Smirking, Daphne took out a Transfiguration textbook as Hermione blanched and all but flew out of the room, dragging Cordelia along with her. Despite herself, however, she couldn't help but think that perhaps there was a possibility that the Gryffindors had uncovered something. Something that was very, very dangerous, such as the potential continued existence of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. After all, her father and mother were no friends of the Dark Lord; and if the Dark Lord was indeed back, there was no telling what he would do to those that he deemed to be traitors. Her father needed to know about this.

As the weeks dragged on, however, she wondered whether or not they were simply on to false leads. Her father had assured her that nothing was out of the ordinary in the rest of wizarding Britain, and had even berated her for wasting his time over nothing worth being concerned about. Judging by the red envelope covering the letter, he was extremely annoyed; but mercifully, it wasn't a Howler. She understood his meaning, however, and focused on the coming examinations. Theory wasn't an issue; she had made sure that between herself, Cordelia and Hermione, they were as prepared as prepared could be. No, it was the practical portion of the examinations that proved to be a hurdle.

Potions was rather straightforward. She scored top marks in the year, brewing a Forgetfulness Potion to perfection. Cordelia and Hermione came equal second, though she had a strange feeling that Professor Snape was actively searching for a reason to take marks off theirs. Oddly enough, Potter had been given a passable mark for his nearly sludge-like potion.

Charms had been much less so. Making a pineapple tapdance across a desk? The fruit didn't even have legs! She only managed to make it do a vague sort of side-to-side rocking, with a little bit of a jump in between each rock; that, apparently, had been adequate. Hermione's was doing little pirouettes as it waltzed across the tabletop, earning her quite a bit of approval from Professor Flitwick. If it was any consolation, at least her fruit remained whole. Cordelia's had cracked after thirty seconds of rather rough and heavy banging; Weasley's had more or less squashed itself into pulp after it shot into the ceiling.

"Wingardium Leviosa is _not_ the charm we are looking for, Mr. Weasley," chided Professor Flitwick, who cleaned away the smashed remains of the fruit with a simple flick of his wand.

Transfiguration was where the two Gryffindors shone brightly. It was fairly clear why, given that both of them tended to practice three times a week on all sorts of things they could find in the forest. Professor McGonagall had let them out with one of her incredibly rare smiles, which spoke volumes on how well they performed. Daphne's own snuffbox – gilded by something between silver and gold, as opposed to just plain silver – earned her a respectable mark, but she couldn't help but feel a little envious that she didn't score top marks.

History of Magic? Remembering the ancient information that the boring old ghost professor taught was hardly worth her time. But if her father said that she must prove herself worthy of the Greengrass name, she couldn't back out of the challenge. Several feet of answers should have been enough – though when she looked to the side, Hermione had somehow cranked out an entire roll of answers, and was working on another. She felt a little better, however, when she saw Malfoy nibbling on the end of his quill, apparently at a loss for answers.

At least someone was going to do worse than her, that was for certain.

There was only one week of school left until the exam results were returned to them. No more studying. No more classes. No more homework. She felt as carefree as a butterfly in the wind. With a little bit more glee than she was accustomed to showing, she skipped out of the entrance hall and into the warmth of the Spring sun. Finding a particularly plump and bouncy patch of grass, she flopped down and lay back, soaking up the sunlight that she hadn't felt for at least a few weeks.

"You know, you probably should be happy more often, Daphne," giggled a familiar voice. "It really suits you,"

"Shut up, Cordelia," she groused, looking up. Cordelia's face loomed over hers, a wide grin splitting her face, "What do you want?"

"Nothing. I'm all done for the year, I guess. Mind if I join you?"

"I do not see a problem with that," she shrugged, "Where is Hermione?"

"She said she wanted to talk with Harry about some...thing...oh..." The copper-haired girl gawked at her. "Wow. You're actually calling her Hermione instead of Granger now?" she mouthed, clapping a hand over her mouth in feigned shock.

"Yes. She has proven to be...adequate. Well, more than adequate. She has proven to be exceptionally intelligent for a mug-another student," Daphne conceded, barely catching herself from slipping in 'muggleborn'. Not quick enough, apparently, as Cordelia chortled in amusement.

She sat down next to her, picking at a dandelion growing in the grass. "I'm glad that you think that way. Well, not the Muggleborn bit – but I think you're still working on it," she murmured, plucking a petal away, "You've really come far, haven't you? I mean, you're actually not pushing away Hermione, who's a Muggleborn witch,"

"She's different," Daphne said quickly, "She's actually worth respecting. She's smart, and she knows what she wants. Not like some of the other girls,"

"Or boys," Cordelia added, frowning.

It was true, she supposed. There was always that Longbottom boy, who couldn't brew a potion to save his life. Potter had his moments, as did Weasley, but neither were particularly focused on improving themselves.

"Hey, Daphne,"

"Yes?"

"Have you got any plans for the holidays? Going anywhere special?"

She shook her head. "If I was, I would have heard about it from father by now. So no, I'm probably staying at Greengrass Estate for the break,"

"An estate? That sounds...big,"

Daphne stifled a snort. Sometimes, Cordelia could be so ignorant of the customs of wizarding purebloods. She had to wonder exactly how did her father not teach her anything about their world.

"It is much larger than a house. Let's leave it at that,"

"Sounds really nice to have some room," Cordelia said wistfully, "I don't even have enough space in my backyard to keep a pet dog. Do you...do you think I could come and see your house sometime? I'm curious about what an estate actually looks like,"

"Maybe. Perhaps sometime in the future," replied Daphne, though inwardly she believed that day would never come. Her father wasn't particularly welcoming of guests without status or wealth – and Cordelia, being the daughter of a disowned Black, had neither. "Enough about myself. What about you? What have you planned to do during the holidays?"

"Dad wrote to me about taking me somewhere, but he wouldn't say where," she shrugged, "But apparently we'll all be travelling together, as a family,"

"That sounds...interesting,"

"I know that it will be. I'll take photos and show them to you when school starts again!"

Truth be told, she was somewhat curious about what things were like elsewhere in Britain. Her father had raised her as a proper pure-blood heiress of high standing, with lessons in etiquette for as long as she could remember. Travelling was firmly out of the question; the furthest she had gone was the Longbottom manor in Wales, on a formal dinner to reaffirm the cordial relations between the Longbottoms and the Greengrasses.

"Please do," she replied.

* * *

That night, however, Cordelia felt something wasn't quite right. It was quite late, and most of the other students had gone to bed early in anticipation of the first day of the holidays. But the lights were all off, despite the fact that Hermione would usually be reading books until the wee hours of the morning every single day of the week. That clearly meant that she wasn't in her bed reading; which was most unlike her, considering that she thought that sleeping too early was wasting time better spent reading. And then there was the fact that Hermione seemed completely uninterested in talking to her all day long. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say for almost the entire week.

Was she ill? Was something bothering her? Cordelia just had to know.

"Hermione? Are you feeling alright?" she whispered, sliding off her bed and creeping as quietly as she could to Hermione's bed. Cracking open the curtain a fraction, she let out a tiny gasp.

The bed was empty. Hermione was not there.

"Hmm. Where could've she gone?" murmured Cordelia. Tightening the sash on her sleeping gown, she wandered down to the common room, expecting that maybe Hermione had fallen asleep in one of the couches while reading a particularly interesting book.

But instead, she was greeted by the sight of Hermione, Harry and Ron in the common room, discussing something in urgent whispers. "What are you three up to? It's really, really late,"

"Cordelia. We were—uh...you know-"

"Is this about Professor Snape and the Stone again...?" sighed Cordelia, "Harry, we've all talked about this before. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't be so careless as to put something that powerful in the castle without enough protection on it. We probably should sleep. We're going back home tomorrow, you shouldn't be worried about-"

"No!" exclaimed Harry, causing Cordelia to jump back in surprise, "No, Cordelia. I can't sleep. My scar's been burning more and more lately, and I know that Snape's definitely after the Stone. He must be getting really, really close now. I have to stop him. I have to stop Voldemort from coming back!"

She blinked. Had he woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning? Or did he actually become mad? "Harry, listen to yourself," pleaded Cordelia, "You're a first year student. Professor Snape's...well, a professor. What would you do to stop him? How would you get past all the things that Professor Dumbledore would've put in place to stop people stealing the Stone? And you know that if you lose any more house points for being caught wandering at night, you'll probably get expelled, right?"

"I don't know how I'm going to stop Snape," admitted the boy, "But I'm going to try. This is more important than just me. Imagine if Voldemort came back to power. There won't be a Hogwarts to come back to. House points won't matter at all then,"

Harry turned towards the portrait hole. "Harry!" Cordelia said, darting forwards and throwing her arms to the side. She was blocking the portrait hole with her body. "Please. Don't do this. What if the protection is too much for you to handle? What if you get seriously hurt—or killed? You saw that three-headed dog, and that's only the first defense that Professor Dumbledore has on the Stone. Who knows what other things he could have down there?"

"Cordelia. I've made up my mind. Please, move,"

"No," she said resolutely, not budging an inch. "I won't. I won't let you do something stupid and hurt yourself, or worse. Go back to bed, Harry. Please. I will drag you there if I have to,"

Harry looked as though he were thinking of shoving past Cordelia, but thought better of it. After all, trying to charge past someone who could throw Dudley several feet through the air – and fight an adult troll – was perhaps not the best of ideas. He looked at Hermione and asked desperately, "Hermione, do something. We can't wait here any longer!"

"Not you too, Hermione?" she groaned, seeing that her study-partner and close friend stood beside Harry. "Why are you helping him? Can't you see that this is foolish? How do you know that Snape-"

To her shock, Hermione bit her lip and raised her wand. "Cordelia, I'm really sorry about this," she murmured, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Cordelia saw a white flash, and her muscles felt as though they had been dipped in ice. She strained to take a step towards Hermione, struggled to lift up an arm; it was as though she were moving in a tub of nearly-frozen molasses. Hermione looked away when the red-haired girl took a single step and collapsed, face forward; her legs and arms stiff as boards.

"I'm really, really sorry," cried Hermione, as the three remaining Gryffindors stepped over her and out the portrait hole while muttering half-hearted apologies.

Cordelia didn't know how long it took for someone to find her. Lying on the cold stone floor with nothing but a thin nightdress was truly unpleasant; her arms and legs were numb and immobile, her nose squashed uncomfortably against the stone. By the time Percy Weasley found her and performed the counter-curse, she was too chilled to do much more than sit with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"Cordelia. Why are you out of bed? And who did this?" he asked, grunting as he helped her to the armchair in front of the fireplace. A jet of flames from his wand lit the little bits of wood still in the hearth, which quickly burst into a merrily crackling fire.

"H-Hermione d-did," she muttered, "A-and Ron—and H-Harry,"

His brows furrowed. "That doesn't make any sense. My brother – and your friends – attacked you? What for?"

"Harry thinks that Professor Snape's out to steal the St—something–from the third floor corridor," she said, "They—I'm not sure how Harry convinced them to help him–they're going to try and go down to stop Professor Snape. I tried to stop them, but...well, I didn't think that Hermione would actually draw her wand and hit me with a curse! Please, could you get Professor McGonagall? I'm really worried that they'll get themselves really, really badly hurt,"

Percy looked at her in confusion, but slowly nodded. "Alright. I'll make sure that Professor McGonagall hears about this. The Body-Bind curse should be lifted now. You probably should head to bed,"

She nodded stiffly. "Alright. I'll do that,"

"Good. If you would do that, then I will go straight to Professor McGonagall,"

When she had warmed up somewhat, and the last embers in the fireplace were dying down, Cordelia marched back up to the girls' dormitory. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions ran through her mind. What madness had possessed her friends to go and try to break through what protections Dumbledore had put on the Stone? Granted, she could somewhat understand about how bad the wizarding world would be if Voldemort returned; but what proof did they have that Voldemort was even still around? In fact, what proof did they even have that someone was even trying to steal the stone? The idea that a teacher at Hogwarts was trying to steal something that Dumbledore was protecting was completely and utterly absurd.

And yet, she knew that Hermione was anything but careless. If she acted the way she did, perhaps she knew of something more that Cordelia didn't. Perhaps Harry found out some proof that Snape was actually trying to steal the Stone.

Whatever the case, she tumbled back into her bed, groaning and stretching her stiff back. Hermione wouldn't be forgiven that easily. Not after using the Body-Bind curse on her and leaving her just lying there for hours.

* * *

Breakfast the following morning was a very, very awkward affair indeed at the Gryffindor table. Or at least, in one particular part of the Gryffindor table. Harry was notably absent, as was Ron; Hermione settled on the seat beside Cordelia. Curiously, however, there was no Professor Quirrell at the staff table, though there was still Professor Snape present, looking as venomous as ever.

"So," Cordelia said icily to an exhausted-looking Hermione, "Should I expect another Body-Bind curse from you this morning? Where's Harry and Ron? Did you end up cursing them too?"

"I said I was sorry, Cordelia," she replied, yawning. "Harry and Ron are both in the hospital wing,"

"It's going to take more than just a sorry for me to let you off!" snapped the redhead. "You have no idea how cold that floor was! And you left me there for _hours_! I'm pretty sure I would've still been like that in the morning if Percy didn't find me!"

"Miss Flynn, please keep your voice down. There are people still trying to have breakfast in peace," barked an irate Professor McGonagall from the staff table.

Cordelia gave a very stiff nod in response, lowering her voice to a low hiss.

"What in the world possessed you to do something like that? Cursing me because Harry said something to you? You'd better explain yourself very quickly,"

"Well, sorry if stopping You-Know-Who wasn't a good enough reason for you!" replied Hermione irritably.

"Really, Hermione? Stopping Voldemort? Daphne couldn't find anything on him doing anything, and she's actually very, very good at finding out things that we shouldn't know. Plus, didn't he die when he tried to kill Harry?"

Noticing that Hermione remained completely dead serious, Cordelia sighed and relented. "Okay. Maybe it's better if you tell your story from start to finish,"

And so Hermione launched into a long-winded tale of how the three friends ventured into the unknown passages under the locked third-floor corridor. How Fluffy had already been put to sleep by someone enchanting a harp to play continuously; how they had almost been stabbed by thousands of angry, buzzing, flying keys; how Ron had been virtually pulverised by a giant, Transfigured chess piece; and the last thing that Hermione helped with, picking two potions from an array of unmarked bottles.

"I can't believe that you actually followed him into all that," Cordelia muttered in disbelief, "That's crazy. You could've been hurt or killed! And so could they!"

"There wasn't any other choice," argued Hermione back, "We were absolutely certain that Snape was trying to get the Stone, and we didn't have any more time to waste. And the Cloak wasn't big enough to take all four of us,"

"You could've told me that instead of just cursing me before talking," grumbled Cordelia, "Wait. If you were certain that Snape was trying to get the Stone, then...why is Professor Quirrell missing? And Snape is still there?"

"That's because Snape wasn't trying to steal the Stone. You and Daphne were right about that," replied Hermione, "It was Professor Quirrell, working for Voldemort,"

Now Cordelia couldn't hold back her skepticism. Professor Quirrell, the mild-mannered – or extremely paranoid, twitchy and feeble wizard, depending on who was describing him – was the one trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone? And as a follower of Voldemort? "You're joking,"

"Well, if I were joking, the staff table wouldn't have one empty seat, would it?" Hermione retorted, "Besides, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall came in about ten minutes after Harry went through the last fire wall that I had to stop at. They carried back Professor Quirrell's robes...and they were covered with ashes,"

Cordelia glanced up at the empty seat at the staff table again. "I guess I can't argue with that. That does make sense. But really, I can't see him working for Voldemort. He's too...useless,"

Hermione snorted at Cordelia's blunt assessment of the teacher. "Well, he could have taught a little more clearly, I suppose. He's not completely useless. But as you said, if you can't see him working for You-Know-Who, then it makes perfect sense. Nobody would ever suspect Professor Quirrell of working for him,"

"Yeah. That's true. Say, are Harry and Ron okay?"

"I think so. Professor Dumbledore didn't seem to be too worried about them. We probably should check on them sometime,"

"Yes—well, maybe, if Madam Pomfrey would let us," Cordelia muttered, "And Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

Cordelia threw her arms around the girl and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, squashing the wind out of her. "Don't ever do something like that to me again,"

* * *

A/N

So, the first year is over. I didn't really want to rehash events in the book - and I'm fairly certain that readers would also prefer not to read through a canon-events-plus-one-OC story. The events in the last half of the book are, unfortunately, very much Harry/golden-trio-centric, and thus would be better off fast-forwarded.

Neville gets away without being body-binded for once!

Now to do the holidays portion of the story, between Book 1 and Book 2. As you can all probably see, Daphne is sitting on a Grey faction that's neither a follower of Dumbledore's light faction, nor Voldemort's dark faction. I'm planning to throw in a third faction that's opposed to both sides. Let's just say that a certain revolution is overdue in the stagnating wizarding society, and that the disenfranchised and the outcasts are those that would push for a great change.

I certainly hope that you've enjoyed the story thus far. Lately, I have been bogged down by vast amounts of work, and thus cannot give a schedule for updates. It really depends on what time I get home and/or whether I have enough energy to write anything.

-ArcturusWolf


	17. 17 - The Black Island

Hogwarts, it seemed, had a way of ensuring that secrets do not remain secrets for too long. After a day or two of wild rumours involving everything between dragons devouring Professor Quirrell, to Harry somehow drowning him in a tub of treacle, the truth about what happened in the hidden chamber underneath Fluffy's room became public. As was the existence of the three-headed dog, which was (tearfully) escorted out of the castle by Hagrid.

And so when Harry finally awoke from his three-day coma, he was greeted by an army of well-wishers who had piled his hospital bed's bedside table with gifts. Though some were genuinely glad that he was okay, most seemed to be more relieved about the fact that Professor Quirrell had been stopped from taking the Philosopher's Stone and resurrecting Voldemort. Daphne, however, had been utterly horrified that something so powerful had been placed under such inadequate protections. If three first-year students were capable of breaching them, then what hope did those protections stand against a true dark lord?

"Well, if you put it like that...I guess it does sound very irresponsible," Hermione muttered, when the Slytherin girl talked to her about their escapade on the train back to London. Harry and Ron had decided to go in a compartment with the other Gryffindor boys, leaving the three of them to take an unoccupied compartment in the back of the train.

"Well, I hope that Professor Dumbledore is satisfied with what he's done," sighed Daphne, "I might not know Mr. Flamel personally, but to hear that one of my father's oldest friends would be passing away voluntarily is...well, my father will not be pleased, to say the least. I still do not understand why the Stone had to be moved away from Gringotts in the first place,"

Hermione, for once, had no real answer to that question. After a moment, she replied with, "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has his reasons,"

"Apparently. Cordelia, you are quieter than usual. Is something bothering you?"

"Uh...it's nothing,"

"You're a terrible liar, Cordelia. You can tell us, you are in the company of friends,"

Cordelia looked at Daphne, and then to Hermione. Both were looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. Instead, she stood up and plopped herself down between the two of them – and looped her arms around both of their shoulders, pulling them into a double one-armed hug.

"I'll really, really miss both of you over the holidays," she said wistfully, looking out the window, "It'll be really different without so many people talking. Mum doesn't like having too many guests around,"

Daphne gave a most unladylike snort at that comment. "Cordelia, for someone so capable in studies, you can be quite...unwise. Did it not occur to you that we could just send an owl to you? Or you could send an owl to us?"

Cordelia blushed. "Oh. Yeah. That's true,"

"And it's not like I don't know where you live. I mean, you've told me before," added Hermione, "I could come and visit you sometime during the holidays, if you'd like,"

"That would be nice, but I'm not even sure if you could get to where we're going," the red-haired girl said, grimacing. She opened her trunk and started rummaging around, eventually pulling out a crumpled letter and handing it to Hermione. "Dad sent me this a couple of days ago. It...sounds like we're moving,"

Hermione arched an eyebrow. She straightened out the letter and held it out so that Daphne could read it as well. There was a map magically inscribed on the paper, with a bright red circle highlighting a tiny island chain on it. "Moving? To...wait. This isn't in England. These are islands west of Scotland!"

"I don't even know how to say those names," admitted Cordelia.

"If I remember correctly, this is one of the older Black family holdings," murmured Daphne, tapping her finger on the island's name, "In fact, all seven of the islands should be. But I don't think father ever mentioned any of them being inhabited. After all, Blacks normally lived in an old wizarding house in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. If Eilean Mor actually had a manor, I am fairly sure that father would have mentioned it at some point,"

"How would we even get there? It's not like mum has a boat..."

"Please. You're a witch, and your father's a wizard. You can ride a broom there. Just a simple flight...over a body of water,"

Cordelia blanched. Riding a broomstick in Hogwarts was entertaining enough; the feeling of wind and the sun on her face was enough to instil a profound sense of freedom in her mind. But to fly all the way to an unknown location in the middle of the sea? How on earth was she supposed to do that?

And then came the thought of being suspended above water by nothing but a flimsy broomstick. She couldn't swim, as she was far denser than water. She would undoubtedly sink like a rock straight to the bottom of the ocean if she fell off. Or if the broom broke. Or if a gust of wind pushed her off.

A soft laugh from beside her snapped her back to the present. "Oh, that look on your face. I wish I could have taken a photograph," giggled Daphne.

"That was mean," Hermione sighed, shaking her head, "You know how much Cordelia hates water,"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Yes, that was the whole point, Hermione," Turning to face Cordelia, she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "There are other ways that magical people travel. Broomsticks are useful for when you do not know where you are going exactly. If there is a fireplace at your destination, you can use the Floo network to move from one fireplace to that one,"

"But we don't have a fireplace at our house. Mum uses electric heaters,"

"Well, then the Floo network is not going to be connected to your house. Which means that option isn't available for you,"

"So I have to fly?" Cordelia whined, "Over water?"

The shark-like grin on the Slytherin girl's face didn't reassure her any. "Yes, I believe that is the case,"

Cordelia whimpered and curled up into a ball, dreading the implications of that. "Not water. Anything but water!" she moaned.

* * *

When the train finally ground to a halt at Platform 9 3/4, Cordelia noticed that her parents were already waiting. Her father was looking wistfully at the ancient steam train, as though reliving some pleasant memories of days long gone; her mother, on the other hand, was conversing with a couple that looked distinctly out of place in what looked much like laboratory coats. Everywhere else on the platform were various people, likely younger siblings or parents of the other students who have come to collect them.

"Well, I guess this is it. Back home for a couple of months," Cordelia sighed. She picked up her trunk and tucked Huginn's cage under her arm. Daphne had already gone to another carriage with her things, saying that she needed to speak with Tracey about some Slytherin things. "I really hope I don't have to ride a broomstick there,"

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," Hermione reassured her, "Come on, I think I see my parents,"

Hermione's parents, as it turned out, were the ones talking to Amanda. "Mum! Dad!" she called out, jogging towards them.

"Oh, Hermione. How lovely it is to see you again! Did you have fun? Did you learn a lot?" Hermione's mother said, stooping down and catching Hermione in a hug.

"Dear, learning isn't everything," chided her husband, "Did you make some friends, Hermione?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Hermione replied.

"That's wonderful. I was worried that you would be...well, stuck in books for the whole time,"

"Dad, stop it. You're embarrassing me," she groaned, turning a little pink.

"Okay, okay. It's just that you were never one for talking to others," he laughed. Seeing Cordelia, he said, "So, who's this, then? One of your friends?"

"Yes. Mum, Dad, I'd like you to meet Cordelia. She's really helped me a lot during the year with schoolwork,"

"Cordelia?" echoed Mrs. Granger, "Didn't Dr. Flynn say that her daughter was also attending Hogwarts? And that her name was Cordelia?"

"That would be correct, Mrs. Granger. Cordelia would be my daughter," Amanda said, stepping up from beside her, "Hello, Cordelia. I trust that your school year was...pleasant? From what letters you have written to me, it certainly seemed that way,"

"It really was!" Cordelia said excitedly, "I learned a lot there. There were so many new things, I don't even know where to begin!"

"Well then, I suppose that you will have much to tell your father and myself over dinner tonight. Speaking of your father, he has said that we have a tight schedule to follow before some 'wards' would prevent us travelling to our destination today,"

"Oh, you're travelling, Dr. Flynn? Where to, might I ask?"

"To be quite honest, I am not entirely sure," murmured Amanda, grimacing, "Every map that I have consulted shows an empty patch of ocean where his map shows seven islands. However, my husband assures me that the islands do indeed exist,"

"That certainly sounds interesting. Islands that are hidden? I wonder if they were hidden like this train platform," chimed in Mr. Granger, "I mean, it's incredible what magic could do. Hiding an entire platform between two others? In plain sight? The things that could be done!"

And so he ventured off into a long-winded chain of hypotheticals, causing Mrs. Granger to smile apologetically at Amanda and Cordelia. "I'm sorry. My husband tends to become very excited once he discovers something new. It has been nice speaking with you, Dr. Flynn, but we probably should leave before we miss the train to Halifax. Please, by all means, call when you have the time,"

Amanda nodded tersely. "That I shall. Especially since I am certain-" she looked at Cordelia disapprovingly, as a couple of Chocolate Frogs fell out of her pockets, "-that my daughter would have more than a few tooth cavities after a year at Hogwarts. Cordelia, you will not be having any more chocolates for the rest of the holidays. I thought I had raised you better than that,"

"Sorry, mother," she replied glumly. She couldn't help herself; chocolate was delicious!

Hermione waved goodbye to Cordelia, and soon the Granger family had disappeared back through the platform gates back to London. One by one, the other families left as well, leaving only Amanda, Cordelia and Phineas left on the platform.

"I can't believe it has been so long since I attended Hogwarts," sighed Phineas, looking fondly at the Hogwarts Express, "Those were the best years of my life. I hope that you enjoyed yourself, Cordelia?"

"Yep!"

"That's the best way to learn. If you enjoy what you do, then you would find yourself lost in your work for hours on end," he said, giving Amanda a knowing look, "As your mother would know all too well. Isn't that right, Amanda? I do remember dragging you out of your laboratory when you fell asleep at a console,"

"I may have been a little...overzealous," Amanda admitted, her cheeks slightly flushed.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," Phineas laughed, giving his partner a quick peck on the cheek.

"Enough," Amanda said sharply, desperately trying to suppress her blush – and failing. "You mentioned that these islands were warded, and you had to be there by a certain time. How would we get there?"

"Not flying. Anything but flying!" moaned Cordelia.

"You don't like flying?" gasped Phineas. He scowled soon after. "Well, I suppose we'll have to work on that,"

"It's not flying itself. I like flying. It's-"

"Water. Those islands are quite far into the ocean," Amanda finished for her, meeting Cordelia's pleading eyes, "Our daughter has a point, Phineas. She cannot be expected to swim if she were to somehow fall off a broomstick,"

At first, Phineas blinked in confusion at the two of them. And then it clicked. "Oh. Well, I never mentioned that we would be _flying_ all the way there. That would be absurd; the Ministry of Magic would have my hide for flying in broad daylight all the way across England!"

"Daphne said something about flues and fireplaces to get from place to place. But we don't have a fireplace at home,"

"Flues? Fireplaces? What are you talking about?" Amanda asked, wondering what strange new wizarding custom did she stumble upon.

"It's the Floo network, dear. A way for wizards and witches to travel from one fireplace to another instantly, using a magical powder that lets you do so,"

"How fascinating. Instantaneous transportation. Imagine how much more efficient the world would be if we did not have to suffer through having to sit in morning London traffic,"

"Indeed. But those are just some ways for wizards and witches to get around, dear," Phineas continued, grimacing, "There is another way..."

"Show me,"

* * *

Amanda had not expected anything like it. Instantaneous personal teleportation – along with two other people, an animal and quite a significant amount of luggage – all the way across the breadth of the British mainland, and then some more. Still, she felt utterly nauseous; she felt as though she had been squeezed through a gap tinier than the head of a needle, spun around in a washing machine, and then spat out the other end after being thrown headfirst into a dryer. She wheezed and heaved, coughing as she tried to hold in her breakfast. Looking to the side, she saw that Cordelia looked completely green as she hurriedly rushed to a nearby tree to empty the contents of her stomach.

"The first time is always the worst," Phineas said, giving her a few quick pats on her back, "But you seem to have taken it quite well. Apparition isn't one of the most comfortable ways to travel, and many wizards just don't bother to learn it properly,"

"I can understand why it would not be popular. That...was perhaps one of the least comfortable experiences that I have had,"

"Yes, that would be more or less what everyone said when they had first tried it," chuckled Phineas. "But take a look around you now. We've arrived on Eilean Mor, the largest island in the seven Black islands of western Scotland,"

The geneticist took in a deep breath and straightened up. A fresh sea breeze carrying the soft scent of wild lavender reached her nose; as did the thunderous noise of white-foaming waves crashing against black granite cliffs. As she looked up, she could see fluffy white clouds drifting past an otherwise unblemished blue sky. Water stretched on for as far as the eye could see; no other islands, no other lands, not even the tiniest speck of green visible on the horizon. That was, other than the six other small islands about the one they were standing on. All of them, at least, were covered in thick, lush green grass, dotted with boulders of the same black stone that formed the cliffs. There was the occasional gnarled tree that sprouted out of the thin soil, but there didn't appear to be much life at all on the island.

"So, these islands are...yours?" murmured Amanda, frowning. "I'm not sure that I understand why exactly you wish for us to move here,"

"I will explain everything in good time," replied Phineas, "For now, I'd like you to follow me. Cordelia, come; take your trunk with you,"

The three of them slowly climbed up a slope leading to the highest point of the island. Amanda noted that there seemed to be traces of earlier settlements scattered about the place; a broken pillar here, a shattered urn there, a piece of cracked flagstone below her feet every so often. In fact, looking at the traces of cobblestone that peeked through the weathered dirt trail, she was certain she was walking on the remains of an ancient road of sorts.

Eventually, as they rounded the last crest at the very top of the island, Amanda wondered about what exactly he was trying to show her. There was a stone archway that was inscribed with glowing blue on the end of the beaten track. There was nothing else in front of them, though there was a niggling feeling in the back of her neck that told her that something wasn't quite right in front of her. She just couldn't place exactly what it was.

Phineas touched the pillar lightly, and a pulse of magic burst out from it, shrouding the entire island in a faint bluish mist. When the mist cleared, Amanda gawked at the sight in front of her.

A ruined castle had appeared literally out of nowhere in front of them. Well, to call it a castle wouldn't have been entirely correct. It was a ruined _town,_ and a castle.

They stood before a drawbridge that was lowered, its chains rusted over. A wooden palisade, rotted and worn to stubs, ran around the perimeter of the town. Most of the town's buildings had long since decayed and collapsed; some so badly that they only left behind traces of stone where they once stood. Strangely, the central road that ran the length of the town to the castle on the hilltop seemed to have been maintained better than the rest of the town. The flagstones were still smooth and grass-free, as though someone had recently come through and taken care of them.

"Phineas. What is this place?" Amanda asked. She was amazed that such a place existed; archaeologists would have a field day here!

He took a deep breath. "This...is Avalon. Or rather, I should say, what remains of it,"

"You mean from the old Arthurian legends?"

"The very same. There are seeds of truth in every legend and myth. And as it happened, the non-magical population of England had forgotten about the truth as centuries passed. As did a lot of the magicals, who believed that the island had somehow vanished," he spoke while leading them up to the castle on the hill, "In fact, even my own family believed the island was cursed. My mother and most of her other sons couldn't apparate here. Every time they did, they were ejected rather violently by the protective wards on the island,"

"Ejected...violently?"

"Well, placed a dozen miles out to the west, in the middle of the ocean. But as they were wizards, they simply apparated back once they had overcome the shock of being dumped into freezing water. So to them, they simply saw it as a cursed property which was untouchable by anyone,"

"I see. But I still do not understand how you came to own this island,"

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "As I was the eldest child of my mother at the time, it was custom to provide me with something as a parting gift. Avalon, as it was untouchable by the rest of the Blacks, was seen as being something almost like a worthless piece of property. And so mother chose to send me away with the title to these islands. Keeping with tradition, and yet providing me with something that would otherwise be worthless,"

"That sounds horrible. Why would...grandmother...be so mean?" Cordelia piped up from Phineas' left.

"Because that is just how she is, sweetheart. The withered old prune could hardly see past herself; that was how highly she thought of herself. Well, of other pure-blooded wizards as well, I suppose,"

"Nobility will never change," Amanda said, shaking her head. "But you must have said something to anger her terribly,"

"Well, I was of the opinion that magic should be used for the benefit of all. Wizard or non-magical," he continued, "Equality for those who were not born into one of the Ancient and Noble Houses. When my mother heard of my opinions, she flew into a rage and cast me out of the Black family,"

"That's just wrong!" Cordelia exclaimed, balling her fists.

"And I'm glad that you think that way. Blood purity makes little difference in a witch or wizard's abilities, after all. In any case, after I had been thrown out, I believed that everything was lost. I tried to Apparate here, thinking that maybe I could get to the island. I was dumped into the ocean; that was no surprise at all. But when I tried again three months ago out of curiosity, the island's wards...accepted me. I didn't land in the ocean, as I had expected. Instead, I was placed where we had arrived,"

Now at the castle's gates, he called out in a clear voice, "Open the gates! Lord Flynn has arrived!"

With a creak and a groan, the rusty gates began to grind open on their own accord.

"Flynn?" Amanda asked, raising an eyebrow.

"As a disowned son of the Black family, I am no longer permitted to use my old family name when trying to identify myself," he admitted, "At least when dealing with magical wards and goblin banks. I needed to adopt your family name,"

"Which means?"

"That this island is yours as much as it is mine. The wards will recognise you as Lady Flynn," he said, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Amanda, however, choked a little at those words. "Lady? You must be joking. I am _most definitely_ not a lady,"

The island, however, seemed to have other ideas. As if to reinforce the notion of having an owner once more, a bright glow enveloped Amanda's hand. She gasped and desperately tried to shake it off, startled out of her wits. The glow faded almost as soon as it had appeared, leaving behind an ornately-carved silver ring on her finger.

"What is this?" she said, examining the ring closely. It appeared to be some sort of signet ring; a raven was carved on one side of the emblem, while a rampant wolf was carved on the other. Between the two of them was a shield of some sort, emblazoned with a single rose. "Heraldic devices?"

"A family ring. I didn't think that it would actually bind to a non-magical person," Phineas whispered in awe.

"This is most definitely not the Black Family's. It does not resemble those on your letters,"

"And I don't recognise them as being any of those belonging to the Ancient and Noble Houses. So whose could it be...?"

Amanda crossed her arms and frowned. An ancient, ruined town, on an island that was supposedly a myth. A signet ring that her partner – or was it husband now? couldn't recognise, and looked far too ornate to be a common ring. Not that signet rings were ever common among the peasantry, from what little she recalled of ancient history. For some reason, however, she felt an odd sense of familiarity about it. "There's more to this island that meets the eye. Perhaps we should check if there is still a library inside the keep,"

The ring proved to be far more than it looked. Phineas looked on in wonder as the ring flashed brightly when she walked into the main hall of the castle keep; braziers and torches lining the hall immediately burst into flame, banishing the darkness. "That shouldn't have been possible at all," he muttered.

"Indeed," Amanda spoke nervously, scanning the many-pillared hall. There was an enormous stained glass window on the far side, depicting a raven with its wings spread wide on a blue background. Below it was a withered tree with glittering silver bark, its naked branches arching over a dusty golden throne. A throne with a skeleton in it, a crown perched on its head and a jewelled sceptre in hand; a chalice lay on the ground in front of it, its contents long dried up. Something about it – she did not know what – called to her. Invited her to come closer. To...speak with it? She walked closer to it, reaching out with her hand.

"Amanda! What are you doing?" cried out Phineas, knocking away her hand. No sooner had he done so, a blinding flash enveloped the hall, and the man was thrown to the floor by some unseen force.

In a position that had him kissing her feet, and bent over as though begging for her forgiveness.

"Knave," a voice burning with cold fury spoke, causing the entire hall to tremble, "Thou wouldst dare to lay a hand upon mine descendant? Upon mine island?"

"Who is speaking?" Amanda said, her eyes darting between her husband and the throne. Trying to remain calm as best she could, she still felt a little bit of cold sweat bead on her forehead.

A silvery apparition drifted in from behind the throne. One of her eyes was missing, replaced by a milky white orb. Her waist-length hair fell in sheets down her back, seemingly bound by a collection of wildflower braids. If it were not for the crown on her head, Amanda might have mistaken the woman for a ghost of her great-grandmother. The severe expression; the thin, drawn lips; the calculating gaze. It all looked...too similar.

"Who are you?" she asked. The ghost's already thin lips narrowed further in annoyance, making her wonder whether or not asking was the right thing to do.

"It must be that through the centuries, courtesy has truly been abandoned," the ghost grumbled, "I am thy...ancestor. I must admit that I do not know how many generations removed. But thou hast my blood running in thy veins. I can sense it,"

The ghost's icy fingers touched Amanda's cheek. She shuddered; the sensation was not unlike being thrown head-first into a bucket of ice water.

"For the sake of courtesy, let us introduce ourselves. As is proper custom, a visitor shall do so first,"

"I...I am Amanda Flynn. And what may your name be?"

"My name? A name holds much power. Thou shouldst be well advised of that," the ghostly woman hummed, "That would depend on who were to speak it. The hateful lords of Wessex and Northumbria would call me Morrigan, the Phantom Queen. But what mine enemies name myself is of no concern. My subjects, however, call me Maeve, sorceress-queen of Avalon,"

"Morrigan? But I thought that Arthurian legend had Morgana as the queen of Avalon,"

"We do not speak of her name in these halls!" Maeve hissed, "My half-sister is but a pretender and a false claimant to the throne of Avalon. Thrice she had attempted to take these islands by force; thrice her ships had been sent to the bottom of the sea,"

"What? But Morgana was a healer!" protested Phineas, who had finally gotten back to his feet with Cordelia's help.

"I know not what lies thine scribes have written, but know that the truth of what my half-sister wreaked upon the islands of Britannia is recorded within these halls," replied Maeve coldly. Turning to face Amanda, however, her expression softened somewhat. "The blood seals to the library can be unlocked by those of mine bloodline. Though my heart is glad that my bloodline has not perished, I am less pleased that my successor has proven unable to break the curse placed upon myself and my descendants,"

"Excuse me? I'm cursed? What curse?" Amanda said sharply, her eyes wide.

The ghost took in a deep breath. Was it even possible for a ghost to take a deep breath? Amanda didn't know, but it certainly sounded like it. "My sister, unable to take these islands by force, laid a dark curse upon myself with her dying breath, her life and magic sacrificed as payment. My children – their children – and their grandchildren, until the end of time, shall never be able to bear or sire a witch or wizard. Their powers would be suppressed as though they had never had The Gift at all,"

"So you're...not actually a non-magical person?" Phineas said to Amanda, piecing together the various bits of information that he had seen and heard. It all clicked. "You're a witch, but with a suppression curse placed on your magical core!"

"Indeed, that would be correct," Maeve nodded, "This island exists on a nexus of ley lines, allowing vast quantities of magical energies to rise to the surface. That would be why the ring of my House had responded to my successor; her own energies may have been suppressed, but the boundless energies that surge through this island have weakened the curse sufficiently for the artifact to respond to her,"

"It...I am not sure what to think," Amanda groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I had a ring magically appear on my hand, which lights fires when I walk into a room. I am speaking with a ghost, who claims to be a very distant ancestor of mine. This is a bit much to take in. Is there any way to prove it, somehow?"

"Dear, I think the next time we go to Gringotts, we could use one of the goblins' bloodline tests to tell for certain whether or not this is true. But I don't think there's any reason for this ghost-"

Phineas' lips slammed shut, and he was left mumbling in a muffled, panicked voice.

"Thou will speak of me with my proper name," hissed Maeve, who had somehow gotten an ethereal staff from nowhere. "Now, as for thine question. Thy husband is quite correct in that an inheritance test performed by goblins would be most reliable. But that is not necessary, for the proof is right in front of thee. How else could thou explain thine presence in my halls, when all others have been repelled? I am curious, however...I sense another of my bloodline...and yet...she does not appear to be cursed in the same way as thou hast been,"

Cordelia squeaked and jumped behind Phineas. "Come hither. I will not harm you. Thou hast my word,"

"O-okay?" the young girl replied nervously, slowly approaching the ghost.

"Thou art...free of the curse. And yet, you are her daughter," Maeve murmured incredulously, after touching Cordelia's cheek, "How? How is this possible? A curse effected by the sacrifice of blood and spirit is one that is nigh unbreakable!"

It was then that Amanda smiled triumphantly. "You said that the curse affects your children, their grandchildren, and all their other descendants, until the end of time. That if they bore or fathered any children of their own, they would have this...suppression curse placed upon them," she said, "Well, what if I were to tell you that I did not give birth to my daughter, Cordelia?"

"That...would suffice," conceded Maeve, after a brief moment of consideration, "However, how canst that be possible? One could not possibly have a child without carrying it in one's womb, and one could not possibly father a child without being of the harsher sex. What thou suggests is verily an impossibility!"

"Perhaps with technology of more than a thousand years ago. But the non-magical research that I had been conducting had culminated in Cordelia's birth. Borne not by flesh and blood, but by machine,"

"Surely thou jest. A machine, capable of bringing forth life where there was none?"

"Not at all. My laboratory was destroyed in a fire after I had quit, yes – but I am fairly certain that I still have the plans to recreate the machine, given time, materials...and money,"

The ghost's eyes lit up with glee. "After a thousand years of waiting for a successor, it appears that at last I will see my bloodline rise again. Come with me, Amanda. If it is gold thou requires to create this wondrous machine, then gold thou shalt have!"

The ghost practically skipped as she led them down into a narrow passageway to the side of the throne. Down a stairwell, through a heavy wooden door, down yet another stairwell, and finally arriving in a room containing a gigantic slab of obsidian for a wall. There was a single short pillar in front of the slab, inscribed with glowing runes. A knife made out of a razor-sharp shard of volcanic glass sat on top of the pillar,

"Place thy hand on the pillar, and drip a few droplets of blood on it," instructed Maeve.

Uncertainly, Amanda picked up the knife and fingered the edge. So sharp was it that she barely even felt the cut, and yet a steady trickle of blood dripped from her index finger and onto the stone pillar. The obsidian wall in front of her rumbled and shook; slowly, it melted into the ground as though it were entirely liquid.

"Wow. I...honestly did not expect that,"

"Extraordinary,"

"Mum? Is this...we aren't seeing things, are we?"

The three of them were gawking at the contents of the castle vault. There was a vast mountain of gold coins and ingots inside. Silver pieces the size of large walnuts were piled to the ceiling. In chests tucked away into the sides of the vault, there were rubies and sapphires, emeralds and diamonds of various shapes, sizes and colours. Jeweled goblets of platinum, gold and silver rested in display cases near the centre of the room. And strangely enough, in the centre of the room, there was a gigantic black stone with a greatsword embedded in it.

"If I must be honest," Maeve spoke, "This is my kingdom's treasury. It was never meant for my own use, but was intended for the betterment of my subjects. If thou must take from it, be mindful of how much thou tak'st,"

"An entire kingdom of wizards and witches. This is unheard of," Amanda whispered, leaning over and picking up one of the gold coins. "Were there many witches and wizards living here?"

"I'd like to know that as well," Phineas added. If the Ministry knew about this, perhaps they would have been more inclined to reverse the Statute of Secrecy.

"Nay, only the members of our family possessed the Gift. My subjects knew of the Gift; but as we offered them our protection in exchange for their fealty," said Maeve wistfully, "Alas, when my descendants proved to be incapable of manifesting their own magic, our power waned. As I grew older, there were whispers among the commonfolk that my family had somehow lost the favour of the gods. Without a heir or heiress, my kingdom was doomed to fall when I would finally perish to old age. One by one, they left, seeking protection from the family of my treacherous half-sister, cursed be her name, until eventually I was left here. Alone, with just myself, my servants, and my husband,"

Cordelia muttered, "That's so sad,"

Maeve shrugged. "Sic transit gloria mundi. All things in the world must pass eventually. However, while I am able, I shall continue to watch over this island. Of thee, Amanda, I ask three favours. Comply, and I shall bequeath this island into your care,"

"Along with the treasury?"

"Along with the treasury, the town, and the castle. And the other six islands that comprise my realm," Maeve reassured her.

Amanda thought about it for a moment. In London, she had been hard-pressed to continue experimenting at home, due to both restrictions on power usage, money and land. Not to mention the extremely nosy neighbour in Number Four, who seemed hell-bent on trying to know exactly what she was doing at any given time; she alone was enough to put a serious dent in her efforts to measure and record everything that could be measured. The island was spacious, and it was isolated. Nobody to probe into what she was doing. She would be free to do as she pleased.

And her daughter could grow in a place where she could exercise her gift as she pleased. No doubt that Maeve could likely teach her things that had been long forgotten; if archaeologists could deduce much from artifacts left behind, who knew what she could find out from a ghost of ages past? That, and she hadn't even taken a look at what books were left behind in the castle's library.

Phineas was silently mouthing to her, 'Take it!', prompting her to snort in amusement – and for Maeve to give Phineas another jaw-locking curse.

"Very well. What are the three favours that you ask for?"

* * *

A/N

Wow, I'm very, very sorry for leaving this alone for way too long, guys. Life has been incredibly busy lately.

Grey Faction on the rise! Dumbledore beware.


	18. 18 - The First Wish

It took Amanda quite a while to get settled into the idea of living in a castle. The hallways were far larger than anything that she had seen before. Coupled with the labyrinthine design of the castle's interior, it took her almost a dozen wrong turns to finally find the master bedroom on the fourth floor of the keep. And that was not the last of the issues that she had discovered thus far. On searching for a toilet, she discovered to her horror that the castle lacked any form of functional plumbing. The privies, it turned out, were simply boards with holes, placed over a hole in an overhanging portion of the castle wall. A portion that was perched right above the moat.

"That appears to be something that I need to rectify quickly," mumbled Amanda, her cheeks flushing pink as her husband had to cast a brief _Scourgify_ to ensure she was clean. When Cordelia looked strangely at Phineas as they stepped out of the privy, she gave a defeated sigh. "Clearly, this castle was not designed with non-magicals in mind. You have learned the cleaning spell too, have you not?"

"Yep," Cordelia replied, her lips puckered in an attempt to not laugh at her mother's embarrassment.

"Make that something that I need to rectify _immediately._ Phineas, how much do you believe we would need to retrieve to restore this castle?"

Her husband waved his hand nonchalantly. "Nowhere near enough to empty that vault, if that's what worries you, dear. I know of a few contacts who would be willing to renovate this castle for-"

"No, that was not quite what I meant," she interrupted, glaring disapprovingly at her husband, "Did you not understand what Maeve asked for? To be specific, her first wish?"

"Restoring her realm, wasn't it?"

"Indeed. And if it was at one point able to resist three invasions by armies that were led by witches and wizards, then it was at some time quite powerful," Amanda said, giving them a crooked smile, "To bring it back to simply being liveable would not do. If we are to restore it, then I will drag it into the twentieth century. To the forefront of technology, as well as magic,"

"But the Statute of Secrecy-"

"Will not be broken. You have worked as a scientist for some time, and studied under non-magical universities, Phineas. Surely you are aware of the satellites that we have launched into orbit. The entire world has been mapped, and yet these islands remain undetected, even from space. I theorise that the magical defenses around this place are sufficiently thorough that even the most modern technology fails to penetrate them,"

Phineas mouthed some protests, but finally deflated as he realised that she was right. There was no way a Muggle could ever detect this place, if it had apparently gone unmapped for the last thousand years. "Alright. What then? How would we bring it to the 'twentieth century', as you suggest? If you're suggesting that we recruit wizards and witches, I doubt it'll work,"

"That is where you come in, dear," Amanda said sweetly, smirking, "You have blended in among the non-magical population of England for many years. Surely there are others that have done the same,"

Cordelia clapped a hand over her mouth. "That's right. I heard from Ron that one of his uncles works as an accountant in Surrey,"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Most wizarding families have at least one Squib in them," Phineas muttered. Recognition dawned on him, and his jaw dropped. "You mean to employ Squibs? Why? They can't really help with magic,"

Amanda grimaced and rubbed her temples. "Not quite what I had in mind, but you appear to be thinking in the right direction. No, Phineas. I am thinking of employing Muggleborn witches and wizards who have left the Wizarding World voluntarily. Do you recall the reaction that the staff had when I had first suggested the topic of genetically-modified children?"

Phineas nodded slowly, unsure with what point she was trying to make. The reactions of the staff that she led were, to put it very mildly, rather hostile. Some had suggested that her research was pointless and that their efforts were better directed elsewhere; others suggested that what she was doing was wholly and completely unethical. Needless to say, it took quite a significant amount of debate and concessions to even get the other scientists to agree with her plan.

"That was with people with the same educational background as myself. Now, imagine the reactions of those who are completely oblivious to what we do. Especially from those with a rather sizeable contingent of trained forces, as you should know all too well," she said grimly, "An unacceptably high risk. I believe that it would be wise to have several people who are well-acquainted with both the non-magical and magical halves of Britain. Wizards and witches who were born to non-magical parents, and had chosen to return to non-magical Britain. At any rate, it would help to prevent basic misunderstandings,"

"So, Muggleborns. That does make sense. But even if we somehow hire them, I'm not entirely sure about what you would do then,"

"All in good time, husband dear," smirked Amanda. "Enough of this for now. A good scientist never neglects all factors. I should like to check the library to see if there is anything useful to read,"

The mention of books caused Cordelia's face to light up. While wandering the castle's interior had been interesting enough – barring the arm-sized spiders that lived in some of the wardrobes and cupboards – she had been itching to read. The library, fortunately, had been easy enough to find; a large obsidian door on the second floor, above the main hall, marked by a scroll on a plaque by its door. There, was, however, another all-too-familiar pillar and knife beside the door.

"Is there anything in here that is not sealed by blood? This is highly unsanitary," Amanda grumbled, cutting her thumb and smearing a little blood on the pillar.

The obsidian door melted into the ground in the same way as the vault's door did. Inside were bookshelves that reached all the way to the ceilings, filling almost every inch of the cramped room. A dusty desk with an empty glass lamp sat in one corner, several pots of ink and quills arrayed neatly on it with stacks of parchment nearby. Before Amanda or Phineas could say anything, Cordelia had zoomed off into the room and began to examine the books.

Except that some, she noticed, weren't quite books. "Dad, what's this?" she asked, taking a dusty rectangular stone slab from a bookshelf. There were strange shapes etched into its surface; and judging by Amanda's blank expression, she didn't know how to read it either. Phineas, however, chuckled and took it from his daughter.

"It looks like...hmm...ancient runes, on a stone tablet," he murmured, blowing away the dust and tracing the shapes.

"Do you know what it says?" Cordelia asked brightly.

"Unfortunately, no. It's been many years since I took the Ancient Runes class, and I haven't really had any reason to read runes for...well, practically ever since I had graduated from Hogwarts,"

It was at that moment that Maeve drifted past and caught wind of the last parts of their conversation. "Art thou unable to read proper letters?" she asked, raising a ghostly eyebrow.

"These haven't been in use for hundreds of years!"

"What utter nonsense! The use of runes have been a part of our people from far beyond my grandfather's grandfather's time!" scoffed Maeve. But as she noticed the puzzled expression on Cordelia's face – and the looks of disbelief that both Amanda and Phineas gave her – she drew a sharp breath and sighed. "Gods help me. Have my descendants fallen so far that they are unable to read and write?"

* * *

A week passed since they had discovered the library. Maeve had, after some persuasion by Amanda, decided to sit down and teach how to read the ancient runes to her. Reading and writing the runes had proven simple enough, but the geneticist simply didn't see how writing so-called 'words of power' in specific combinations and with specific inks or paints could result in magical effects. In the end, she simply filed it away as something that she needed to investigate later. Perhaps when she had someone more qualified to look at the matter.

The library, however, proved to be filled with various magical texts. Most of which appear to have been written by Maeve, and likely her sons and daughters. But with Phineas having disappeared to recruit Muggleborns, Amanda found herself completely unable to understand half the esoteric concepts that had been written inside. Why would it matter which way a cauldron was stirred? Why would a bean need to be cut up instead of crushed to extract its juice? Those were only a few of the questions that ran in her head, and without a fully trained wizard to assist her in person, she couldn't make any further headway in her research.

In the end, she simply settled down on drafting plans for the castle. Almost all of the side rooms needed reconstruction, having fallen into disrepair over the centuries. The tops of certain walls were crumbling to dust whenever anyone walked on it; and the water supply...well, to say there was a water supply at all would have been a great overstatement. The wellspring under the castle had been clogged by several fallen slabs of magic-resistant rock, which Cordelia had only managed to partially clear with a transfigured pickaxe. With a steady (if small) supply of fresh water, at least they could drink and wash themselves. When it came to food, Phineas had left them with a pouch that had several weeks' worth of nourishment potions, saving them from having to go and search the island for anything that was edible.

"So, you said that the potions laboratory in Hogwarts was underground?" Amanda hummed, jotting down a few notes about things that Cordelia had observed of wizarding society, "Is there any reason for that?"

"I really don't know," Cordelia said, pulling a face as she drank a nourishment potion. "Professor Snape didn't really explain much about why things were done. He writes things on the blackboard and just expects us to follow the instructions,"

"Which, might I remind you, is not the only way to learn. Did you not read the textbook? Did you not think to ask older students about why things are as they are?"

Cordelia hung her head. She didn't have an answer. "I didn't think about asking other people. But I did read the textbook,"

"Well, that is something at least. Do you still have the textbooks with you?"

"I think I had it...here they are,"

Taking the copy of _One Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi_ and _Magical Drafts and Potions_ from Cordelia's hands, Amanda began to leaf through the pages of the former, scanning for any information that may be useful.

"Hm. I suppose this 'potioncrafting' does resemble some form of butchered chemistry. Cordelia. Did you ever use a mineral as an ingredient in a potion?" she asked, closing the book and starting on the other.

"No. Why?"

"Because, my daughter, I believe I know the answer as to why your school's potions laboratory was in the dungeons. Every single one of the ingredients listed are organic in nature. This means that if they were not stored properly, they would decompose. And that is something that is always taken care of in non-magical laboratories, regardless of where they were built,"

"Oh. Right,"

"Indeed. I think that I have all the information I require to complete my plans for this castle. Your father should have returned by now. Has Huginn found anything interesting?"

The raven in question cawed loudly and flapped its wings.

"I think she means no," Cordelia giggled, extending an arm and letting the bird hop onto it.

"A shame. Well, you and the bird appear to need a little bit of time to yourselves. Why don't you go and play outside? The sun is quite pleasant at this time, and I doubt that you would want to sit around watching me read and write,"

As her daughter bolted out of the library as fast as she could with a squawking bird on her arm, Amanda couldn't help but laugh. Ever since they had moved to the castle, Cordelia appeared to be much happier than when they lived in Privet Drive. It was as though she was actually at ease, living in a world that she was meant to be in.

"Thou hast done well thus far, my heiress," Maeve spoke, walking in through a wall. She wore an approving smile on her face, and the creases on her brow seemed to have vanished somehow.

"Have I? These plans are far from perfect," replied Amanda, eyeing the stack of drawings that she had on her desk. Most were rough sketches, with annotations. If she had sent them to a builder as they were, it was a certainty that they would have been refused.

"That they are. However, one must never disregard one's own merits. Thou hast, thus far, accounted for many of the possibilities of what one may need in restoring the castle. There is only one matter that remains unresolved, however,"

"And what would that be, Maeve?"

"A way to defend thyself, thine daughter and husband. The wards of Avalon are strong, and this castle's walls are still as formidable as ever. I have made sure that they would stand the test of time, but even I am not infallible. What did you believe occurred when my half-sister attempted to take Avalon for the third time?"

"As this castle still stands, and you are here, I do not think that your half-sister had succeeded,"

"Aye. That is but half of the answer, however. The wards _were_ breached. But I was able to repel the invaders with a contingent of my own battlemages and my non-magical subjects' warriors. Thou hast no such advantage. Thine husband, while an accomplished wizard in his own right, is not my equal, let alone the equal of a contingent of battlemages,"

Silence fell on them as the unpleasant topic began to sink into Amanda's mind. She had, up until that point, been entirely focused on how to create facilities to further the research of topics both magical and non-magical, and everything in between.

"That was in the past," she retorted weakly.

"Past, present or future, the one quality of man remains a constant, my heiress," Maeve spoke darkly, "The sooner that thou shalt realise that envy, greed and fear exists in the hearts of almost every man alive, the sooner thou canst protect thyself and thy family from danger. Know thee this simple truth; the brightest of candles always casts a shadow, and that shadow is never far from the candle's flame. Make of my advice what thou will,"

And with that, Maeve faded into mist, dissipating into a nearby wall. Amanda grit her teeth in frustration, knowing that the ancient ghost was right. Her detractors in the laboratory where she worked were only silenced once she had been disgraced and quit. Despite all the unpleasant words that they spoke behind her back, their words remained exactly that; just words. Who was to say that the magical world would react as civilly as they did? Who was to say that the magical world would not react militantly, destroying everything that they viewed as improper and appropriating that which they desired for themselves?

She sighed and ran her hands through her locks of hair, dreading the thought of what she had to modify in her plans. At least their Gringotts visit was scheduled for tomorrow, allowing her some time to add a few more things.

* * *

When Amanda walked into Gringotts wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase, many wizards raised an eyebrow. Doubly so when she approached the queue for the teller instead of the moneychanger, as all the other non-magical visitors did. One of the wizards nearby, perhaps wondering if she didn't know what she was queueing for, decided to approach and tap her on her shoulder.

"Excuse me," he spoke, "The queue for the moneychanger is over on the left. Are you sure you are in the right place?"

"Then it is good to know that I am in the right queue, is it not?" replied Amanda tersely, "I have an appointment for ten o'clock,"

"I meant no offense," the wizard said silkily, a forced smile on his face. Amanda took a closer look at the man; smooth, slicked-back silvery-blond hair, a pale, pointed face, and a distinctly aquiline nose. His velvet dress robes were completely spotless and starched to perfection, without a single thread out of place. The picture of a snobbish nobleman through-and-through. On seeing Phineas, however, his lips curled into an unpleasant sneer. "Ah. Mister No-Name, formerly of House Black. How...charming to meet you. Are you here to request yet more financial assistance from the Ministry? If you are, then I suppose your niece could assist you with that,"

If looks could kill, this man would have died many times over. "Lucius Malfoy. As charming as ever, I see," Phineas replied icily.

"Of course. Unlike yourself, I do try to uphold the traditions of our ancestors. Something that you appear to have neglected. But truly, I am surprised to see you here again. I believe that the last time we had met, you have said that you were going to live amongst Muggles. Is there any reason why you are here today?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Malfoy. Now, if you would leave my wife and I to attend to our business..."

Lucius turned up his nose. "Please. I am sure that what a nameless pauper has to do in Gringotts would not interest the head of a Most Ancient and Noble House like myself. And she is your wife, you say? It seems fitting that one such as yourself would find a Muggle more attractive than a properly raised witch. Or perhaps you lack the class and the stature, that no witch of good standing would consort with you?"

Amanda was left quite speechless. Of all the nerve that this man had! Insulting her husband - and then herself – without any provocation whatsoever? What exactly was his problem?

"Sir, if you continue to provoke our customers, we will be forced to eject you from the premises," growled a nearby guard. "And the same goes to you, sir. Gringotts is a place of business, not of petty squabbles. Settle your differences somewhere else,"

The blond ponce looked as though he was about to say something more, but thought better of it when a number of other armed guards started to approach. He nodded stiffly, though with an unpleasant sneer still plastered on his face. "Fine. I still have more important things to attend to anyway,"

"What an unpleasant man," Amanda muttered under her breath, as Lucius sauntered out of the bank without acknowledging anyone at all.

"Yes. He hasn't changed one bit over the years," grumbled Phineas. "Ah. Looks like our goblin is now free. Good morning, Vault Manager Sharptooth. May your gold ever flow and your enemies fall at your feet,"

The goblin in question – one with a bent, hooked nose and wispy hair – ushered them into a side room impatiently. He sat himself down behind the desk inside before motioning for them to sit down in the seats in front of him.

"May your enemies' flesh burn and your vaults be ever full, wizard. How can I assist you today?"

Phineas nudged Amanda, who leaned forward and said, "I require some construction work to be performed,"

The goblin looked at her questioningly over the frame of his square glasses. This woman had no magical signature at all – meaning that she was a Muggle. Even Squibs had a tiny, residual spark of magic in them. He had seen wizards and witches ask for construction to be done, almost every day. He had seen tall ones, short ones, old ones, younger ones. But never in his life had he seen a _Muggle_ ask for work to be done. But the woman in front of him carried herself with a rather serious and formal bearing, almost like that of one of the older matrons of the Goblin Nation. Surely this was not some form of elaborate prank.

"While Gringotts offers construction services, Miss...?"

"Flynn. Doctor Flynn,"

"Very well, Doctor Flynn. As I was saying before, while Gringotts does offer construction services, I find it highly unusual that a non-magical person would be requesting something built by us. If it were not for Phineas' request, I would have rejected your application outright. I am curious; is there no non-magical construction company that is able to fulfil your request?"

Amanda's eyes narrowed at the implied slight. Did the goblin really think so little of the non-magical folk, that they would not even consider rendering them a service? Nevertheless, she retained her composure. "I believe that the site that I am requesting work on is unreachable through non-magical means,"

"Indeed? This is curious. Given that the two of you have arrived together, I assume that Phineas was the one that is responsible for transport to and from this location,"

"That would be correct. However, I am the owner of this particular location, and he is simply assisting with transportation,"

Now the goblin looked at her as though she had sprouted another head. "Are you suggesting, Doctor Flynn," he spoke, slowly, "That you are in possession of a magical title to land, without being a witch yourself?"

Before Amanda could reply, however, Phineas held up his hand to stop her. He looked pointedly at the door behind him, and then back at the goblin. "Vault Manager Sharptooth. Gringotts does value its clients' privacy, does it not?"

"Ah. Of course," the goblin replied. With a snap of his fingers, a golden sheen coated the walls of the room, and the glass pane of the door darkened to the colour of darkest midnight. "Sensitive information is always treated with due care, Phineas,"

"Very good. I believe that my...wife...has a Blood Curse placed on her bloodline. Which is why she is unable to access her magic,"

"That is a serious claim that you have raised, Phineas, but well outside the purview of Gringotts. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be better suited to deal with that particular issue. Now, on to the more relevant request that you have. Doctor Flynn, Gringotts is unable to proceed with your request until your identity is confirmed. Do you have any knowledge of your House? Perhaps records of family births and deaths, or a family tree?"

Phineas looked at Amanda, who shook her head with a scowl on her face. "I was not aware that I needed family records to request construction works,"

"You misunderstand, Doctor Flynn. Line Theft, which is to say to declare – wrongfully – that you are the heiress or lady of a House, is a grave crime in the eyes of both goblins and wizards alike. By extension, the theft of a House's property is equally grave a crime. To construct something unlawfully on another's property is akin to stealing land that is rightfully owned by another. Without proof of ownership, Gringotts cannot – and will not – perform works on a piece of land,"

"Wonderful. Does this mean that I must book another time to repeat this exercise, with a family tree in hand?" groaned Amanda.

"No, that will not be necessary," Sharptooth said, standing up. He walked to the side of the room, where he retrieved a basin and a knife. Amanda rolled her eyes in disapproval as she saw the knife. What was with these wizards and their obsession with blood? "This is a Line Reflector, which permits us to identify which House a person belongs to, and whether or not they are a Lord or Lady of one. All we require-"

"Is a little blood," finished Amanda. When the goblin tilted his head in askance, she replied with, "There are far too many things that require blood in the wizarding world, it seems. Blood to open doors. Blood to open vaults. Blood to identify someone. I am honestly surprised that blood is not used as payment for things as simple as bread or water,"

Sharptooth blinked at her comment, before giving a sharp bark of a laugh. "You would be surprised Doctor Flynn. It was only four centuries ago that Gringotts would take a pound of flesh from those that could not repay their debts,"

"Cut closest to the heart, am I correct? But not so close as to bleed them to death instantly,"

"A sharp woman, you are. I believe we will get along fine," he chuckled. "Right. I require a drop of your blood in this basin. The knife is enchanted to instantly heal the wound after a sufficient amount of blood has been drawn. After that, we shall see what House you truly belong to. If you belong to one at all,"

Nodding, Amanda took the knife and ran her thumb along its edge. A droplet of blood fell into the basin; as if touching a white-hot surface, the blood hissed and turned to a vaporous red mist instantly. The mist coalesced into what was unmistakably writing, in an elegant, flowing script.

 _Amanda Rosalind Flynn_

 _Heiress Presumptive of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Eire_

 _Steward of Avalon_

A stunned silence filled the room for a few minutes after the red mist had faded away. Both Phineas' and the goblin's eyes were wide as saucers; both were unable to comprehend what they had just seen. "Ahem," Amanda cleared her throat, "I believe that our business is not yet concluded. What does it mean that I am the 'heiress presumptive', of a...Most Ancient and Noble House? Or that I am the...Steward of Avalon?"

If it were possible, the goblin had somehow become somewhat more respectful towards her immediately after her words had sunk in. "Heiress presumptive means, Doctor Flynn, that you are next in line of inheritance, assuming that no new heirs or heiresses born with a superior claim," he replied, finally looking her in the eyes, "And a Most Ancient and Noble House...is one that has existed for a very, very long time. For one that is believed extinct to surface again? Something like this has not happened in...at least two centuries, when one of House Potter was found to be House Peverell's heir. As for your other question, the title of Steward permits you to work with the island of Avalon, in the name of the current Lord-"

"Lady," corrected Amanda.

If it were possible, Sharptooth's brow creased even further in confusion. "The legends speak of Arthur, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Pendragon, as being once the owner of the island, and he is most certainly a male lord. From the way you speak of Avalon, however, it is as though you know of its owner—wait. Do you mean to tell me that you have set foot on an island that everyone had believed lost to time?!"

"That would be correct,"

"If it were anyone other than a Steward of a domain recognised by magic itself, I would dismiss that claim as pure fantasy, Miss Flynn. Even more so when your magical core appears to be non-existent. Yet here you are, the heiress presumptive of a House, with...the family ring, no less," Sharptooth mumbled, spotting the signet ring on her left hand. "I am at a loss for words. The Goblin Nation had believed the island and the House lost forever for centuries, and very few things escape our notice for long. Fewer still avoid detection when we search. But I digress. I assume that the construction work that you require is intended for Avalon?"

She nodded curtly.

"If that is the case, then I must first ask if you have the plans of what you require,"

"Right here," Phineas said, picking up Amanda's briefcase and unlocking it. Inside the enlarged interior was a stack of papers with plans, and several crates of dusty gold coins under them. Sharptooth took the plans from Phineas' hands and looked over them briefly. After a few moments, he set them down and chewed on his lips, brows furrowed.

"These are...well, they are certainly different from what any other client has asked for in the history of Gringotts,"

"Whether or not they are different matters little to me. What I would like to know is if Gringotts is capable of executing the plans to my specifications, and with the required level of confidentiality that I require," Amanda spoke, "Or if I will have to find-"

"Yes, yes, we certainly can," the goblin answered quickly, knowing that his superiors would have his head if he allowed such an enormous project to slip away. "Though I will have to ask for some time to confer with my colleagues about these plans. As you do not currently have a Gringotts vault, Miss Flynn, there is also the small matter of liquidity that must be discussed before any work commences. Plans of this magnitude would likely consume millions of Galleons. We require a small deposit to ensure that both parties are acting in good faith, and this is not an elaborate hoax,"

Amanda glanced at Phineas, before reaching into the briefcase and pulling out a dusty gold coin and sliding it onto the table. "That was the second service that I required today. What could Gringotts give us for this coin?"

Sharptooth picked up the coin and looked at it in the light. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped it clean, felt it in his hands for its weight, looked at its ragged edges while rolling it in his fingers – and even bit it. After deciding that it was genuine gold, he took out a set of scales and weighed the coin.

"I believe that we will be able to exchange these for Galleons at more or less equal rates," declared Sharptooth, putting away the scales, "They are smaller and lighter, but they are of much higher purity,"

One to one exchange, and millions of Galleons likely required to complete construction. A cold feeling of dread gripped her heart. The vault in Avalon had many of those coins, but whether or not there was enough to cover the project's costs was another matter. And that was before the costs of hiring the self-exiled Muggleborns that she needed for her project to succeed! Would she even have enough left over to fund them? And for how long? A year? Two years? Five years?

An unpleasant thought drifted into her mind. Heiress _presumptive_ , she was called earlier. If there was a more suitable heir or heiress, she could be replaced.

And now she realised what Maeve's plan was all along. Testing her resolve. Testing whether or not she was a suitable candidate for the restoration of her realm.

"Exchange them all. I will return tomorrow with more," she declared through gritted teeth, placing the briefcase on the table and revealing the crates of gold to the goblin. There was no way she was going to allow a long-dead ancestor of hers to brand her weak-willed or cowardly!

* * *

A/N

Wow, it's been quite some time since I last touched this story. Moving houses takes a lot of time T.T

Now, on to responding to some reviews!

LordMesirix: Yep, that's the whole idea. Light and Dark seem a bit too binary for my liking. What happened to all the subtleties of grey?

The-Only-Temporary-Name: Yep, things are about to change up quite a bit! Stay tuned, and we'll get to it.

Dragon Man 180: Laboratory on a magical island. Totally an evil madwoman's setup, right? She's a dark...evil...muggle? -glares at Greater Good placards hanging off Diagon Alley shops- As for the sword, that's going to be for later. Really, _really_ far later.

Sazq: Thanks for the review, and yes, at this point in time Ron doesn't really have much in his favour. In fact, in the first story he's pretty much a slothful slob with a hero worship problem. This story will diverge from canon at this point, so you can rest assured that Ron and Harry will start to fade into the background, more or less keeping in tune with the majority of canon events. As for Cordelia, her flaws will become more apparent once the second year rolls around. Let's just say that genetic modification has unfortunate side effects when a developing magical core is present...

Divergence from canon at this point will also give me a lot more latitude in how to tweak characters to the story - and I do think that in trying to keep too true to the original storyline, I ended up weakening the possibilities of characterisation that are available to me.

Until next time, folks. Stay tuned!

-ArcturusWolf


	19. 19 - Unidentified Flying Object

Cordelia was bored.

Very bored.

Bored out of her mind as she stared out of her room's window, having read through the first year textbooks for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that day. There was nothing new to read, nothing new to learn, and she didn't even have access to her mother's (new) personal library.

She kept dreaming of that island – Avalon. Where she had stayed for a couple of weeks with her mother. Where she had Maeve to talk to about magic. Where she could run around without a single care on rolling fields of emerald grass, chasing butterflies and take naps on the sides of sunny hills. Where she could actually _use_ magic, and not be restricted by some stupid law about keeping Mug— _non-magical people—_ in the dark about the existence of magic.

Maeve had essentially beaten that word out of her vocabulary through fear. Apparently, the word itself was a terrible curse word to use against those who did not possess the gift of magic, more than a thousand years back. And hearing Cordelia use it so casually had caused her to fly into a terrible rage.

A ghost she may be, but with the powerful ley lines converging underneath the island, she was certainly still capable of wielding magic. Which literally meant that Cordelia was hanging upside-down by her ankles, from the top of the castle's curtain wall – right below the privies – until Cordelia swore to not use that degrading term for those without the gift of magic. Needless to say, her methods of persuasion were tremendously effective, even if it had nearly caused Amanda to suffer a heart attack.

So now Cordelia was back in her room in Number Three, Privet Drive. Her mother said that it was due to construction work that was about to commence in a few days' time. Privately, however, Cordelia thought the sheer terror that an angry Maeve instilled in her mother after that incident had something to do with the decision to move so quickly.

"Hermione, Daphne," muttered Cordelia, idly playing with a quill, "I wonder what you're all doing now...?"

A look out of her bedroom window showed a number of vans and workmen parked in front of Number Four. A group of four workmen were hauling what appeared to be a heavy mesh of steel – and several tall ladders. She grimaced as she remembered who lived in that particular house.

Harry Potter.

The boy-who-never-saw-the-sun – or at least, while he was in the custody of his relatives in Number Four. Her heart sank as she realised that perhaps he had done something so bad that his relatives ordered bars to be put on the windows of his room. But then she remembered that he had said something about living in a cupboard under the stairs while at Number Four. So what was it for, then?

A few days later, she had found out the answer when she went out for a walk to the local park. "Harry?" she gasped, spotting a familiar mop of black hair plastered against the barred second floor window of Number Four.

Harry was leaning miserably against the glass, looking thinner than she remembered him back in Hogwarts. His owl, Hedwig, was perched in its cage, feathers drooping and looking as though she had been thrown into a bucket of water. It was a truly pitiful sight – and one that she couldn't bear to see any more. She sprinted straight home.

"Mum!" she yelped, as she burst into the kitchen of her home. Her mother was sitting on a barstool by the kitchen counter, poring over a thick pile of papers. "Did you see what the Dursleys did?"

Amanda merely raised a single eyebrow at her daughter as she stopped reading her research notes. "The Dursleys do many things, Cordelia. Most of which do not concern me. What particular event are you speaking of?"

"Oh, come on, mum!" Cordelia huffed exasperatedly. Her mother could be so aggravatingly unobservant of things she didn't consider important. "The Dursleys barred up Harry's bedroom window. He looks so miserable locked up in there,"

"A single observation of a single moment. What have I told you about a single data point, Cordelia?" replied Amanda, "You cannot determine whether something is truly what you believe it is unless you have observed it properly. That is to say, multiple times,"

"But...they..."

"I know how our neighbours treat your friend, Cordelia. As far as I am aware, he has been clothed, fed and watered. He has a roof over his head. And this has been true for the last eleven years. Despite the admittedly rather heavy load of chores that they pile onto the boy, he has what he needs to live. Who is to say that what they have done is for his own safety?"

"That can't be right! There hasn't been anything wrong happening here for...well, ever,"

"That much is true, Cordelia. Privet Drive is rather safe. It makes little sense for them to place such security measures in place," Amanda murmured thoughtfully. "Still, you should not be overly concerned. As unpleasant as our neighbours are, I doubt that they would do something excessively cruel to their ward,"

"But Harry said that they kept him in a cupboard under the stairs," Cordelia retorted, crossing her arms. "That's not nice at all,"

Now that gave Amanda pause. "Did he say that, now?" Amanda said, standing up. "That is very concerning indeed-"

"So you'll help?"

"-if it were possible to prove true," finished her mother firmly. Seeing Cordelia's downcast eyes, she explained, "You have the word of one friend, with no eyewitnesses to support his claims. You have even said yourself that he was now in a proper bedroom. Even if it were true that he had been kept in a cupboard, our neighbours could simply say that they had improved the conditions of his stay. Or even that they had never kept him under inhumane conditions to begin with,"

"So you won't help," Cordelia muttered.

"No. I will not lift a finger to help him, as he is not my concern. Nor should he be yours, unless...is he perhaps something more than a friend?"

The little girl's jaw dropped at that question. Did she hear that correctly? Was she dreaming? She blushed a furious red. After a few moments of stammering incoherently, she eventually managed to choke out a disgruntled "Eww! No!"

"Then I fail to see how it should be my concern, if he is not _that_ close to you," Amanda replied, smirking in amusement, "He is not in a life-threatening situation. Go on, then, enjoy the rest of your holidays. You still have only three weeks left before term begins,"

At night, Cordelia found herself unable to sleep. Whether it was the cold draft of air that was always coming up from the cracks between the floorboards, or from the annoyingly bright lights that shone straight into her eyes from the windows, she did not know. Or perhaps it was just how annoyed she was at how her mother didn't trust her word. How could she not notice Harry's suffering? The boy was always miserable every time she had seen him around. Especially when he was out plucking weeds or cutting hedges in the Dursleys' garden under the sweltering heat of summer, or the freezing chill of winter.

She tossed. She turned. And yet, nothing seemed to be able to help her to sleep. Eventually, she just gave up and sat up in her bed, hoping that maybe there was something interesting happening outside.

Not that anything interesting _would_ happen outside. Privet Drive was a quiet place during the day. And at night? It was almost deserted. Not a single car, person or animal to be seen.

"Can't...sleep," Cordelia whined. A quiet caw replied from the cage on her bedside table. "You too, Huginn?"

Another caw. "What do you mean, I'm keeping you awake?"

A squawk, and a croak, followed by chuffing. "That's hardly fair. I'm not _that_ noisy, am I?"

A cheeky caw. "You silly, silly bird," giggled Cordelia. At that point, she heard what sounded like the roar of an overly large engine outside. Like a car that was speeding down a highway. "Wait, do you hear that?"

It would have been relatively normal, if there was a highway anywhere nearby. Or if the sound actually came from ground level. Cordelia squeaked in fright and fell off her bed with a loud thump as a blindingly bright light shone into her bedroom and into her eyes.

"Ouch!" she cried out. Picking herself up, she dashed to the side of her bed, pushing up the curtains and peeking outside. Two extremely bright sources of light were still pointed straight at her bedroom window. Two light sources, hovering right above the lawn of Number Four. Shielding her eyes as best she could, she could only make out the faint outline of some sort of vehicle. Was it a car, or was it something else? She couldn't really tell.

There was, however, something that seemed as though it were clambering out of the vehicle. Leaning out towards the house. The engine of the vehicle revved again and it lurched forward; with an almighty clang, the mesh covering Harry's bedroom window broke free of its anchorings on the wall.

The mesh covering Harry's bedroom window. "Harry!" Cordelia yelled. She bolted out of her room, only to run headlong into her mother and nearly bowling her over. Amanda, having held a large pot of steaming hot tea in her hands as she returned to her room, yelped in pain as her front was thoroughly doused in the liquid.

"Cordelia Emily Flynn! Explain yourself!" screeched Amanda, as she hastily threw off her soaked and steaming bathrobe. Thankfully, the thick woollen robe had absorbed the worst of the boiling tea, though her usually pale skin was an angry pink. "Why are you up and about at this hour, and running inside the house?!"

"I...uh..."

"I should like to know that as well—oh," yawned Phineas, walking in sleepily from the master bedroom. He nearly leapt in shock when he had spotted a half-naked Amanda in the hallway, with scalds all over her front. "Goodness me. Are you alright, dear?"

"Do you require eyesight correction, Phineas? Does it seem like I am unharmed?" she snarled back, "Never mind. Fetch me my spare bathrobe, and some burn ointment. You, little one-" Amanda seized Cordelia by her ear, "-are coming with me. What in the blazes _were_ you doing?"

While Phineas dabbed Murtlap essence on Amanda's burns, the irate mother forced her daughter to sit down on the edge of her bed. Cordelia shifted nervously; she hadn't seen her mother this angry in a very, _very_ long time. There was no way that she could get away with running to check on Harry now. And looking at her father's displeased expression, she couldn't convince him to help her either.

"So," Amanda said icily, glaring at her very sorry daughter, "What possessed you to start running inside the house, Cordelia? A nightmare, about this Harry child in Number Four?"

"No—well, it _is_ about Harry,"

There was an irritable twitch in the scientist's left eye. "We have discussed this earlier, Cordelia. The boy is safe in Number Four. There is no reason to fear for his safety! Now, I know that you are not a foolish girl like many others out there. You must have seen something to make you believe that this Potter boy was threatened by something. Well? What is it?"

"I-I saw something. Flying,"

"Flying. How large?"

"It looked about as large as a car. Or-uh...it was hard to really tell how big it was, really,"

"As large as a car, or did you see something else?"

"It was really hard to see what it really was. I know that it had two lights that were really, really bright, and it was shining them straight into my room,"

"Well, that would make a lot of sense," Phineas chimed in after dabbing the last of the Murtlap essence around Amanda's collarbone, "Bright lights can be quite disorienting. One of the easiest ways you can take down a witch or wizard is by a simple _Lumos Maxima_ to their eyes. They can't hit what they can't see, after all,"

Amanda nodded in agreement. "That is true. So, you could not identify what it was as you were blinded by lights. You couldn't tell how large it was. But you assumed that the Potter boy was in danger of...something. Why did you think this?"

"Because...I saw it pull off the bars on Harry's bedroom window! It made a really loud noise with its engine while doing that. You heard it, right? Dad? Mum?"

"The only engine sound that I had heard was that of a car. A car that must have driven far too fast on these roads," grumbled Amanda, "Which is unusual, but not impossible. Unless you are suggesting that a car could somehow fly,"

"Oh come on, mum. It's not impossible, is it?" Cordelia whined, "I mean, wizards fly on broomsticks. Aren't there...flying carpets, flying cars, something like that? Dad?"

"Sorry, sweetheart, wizards don't have flying cars,"

"And there we have it. You have the word of your father, Cordelia. Perhaps you have been working too hard, and are seeing imaginary things,"

"But..."

"Enough. You will not argue any more with me on this, Cordelia, unless you want to be washing the dishes for every day until you return to Hogwarts!" snapped Amanda, "Go to sleep. If it would help to put your mind at ease, I will go and speak with Mister Dursley in the morning about what might have actually happened overnight,"

* * *

As it turned out, something _did_ happen to the Dursley residence the previous night. The rose bushes on their front lawn had been thoroughly flattened by something large, heavy and round, more or less the same size as Vernon Dursley's backside. The front wall of the house had a yawning hole torn into it where there was once a window, with a loose tarp barely covering it. Bits of brick and glass lay scattered on the grass across nearly twenty feet, while the steel bars covering the window had been thrown almost to the paved footpath on the kerbside. Vernon Dursley himself, oddly enough, was hobbling about on the lawn, scooping up debris. Who would have thought that the slothful man had it in him to do some housework?

Amanda frowned as she picked up a broken bolt from the ground. One as thick as her thumb. This was clear evidence of something extremely powerful pulling against the bars – and even succeeding at ripping it clear from the brickwork.

A vehicle. Maybe a truck, or a car, towing the bars and ripping them out. But how on Earth did someone manage to tie a rope or chain to something on the second floor of a house, without being spotted?

"Excuse me, Mister Dursley," Amanda said to the whale-like man as she approached him. Which clearly was the wrong thing to say, as he instantly narrowed his eyes on seeing her.

"You!" he snarled, thrusting his finger at her chest. "You had something to do with this, didn't you? Your little twerp called some _freaks_ in to help the little freeloading freak in my house!"

"I must admit that I have no idea what you are speaking about," replied Amanda truthfully, taking a step back. Vernon Dursley was never a pleasant man to speak with. Doubly so when he was agitated. "In fact, I was about to ask about what had happened here exactly,"

Vernon stared at her suspiciously. "What do you mean—you didn't hear that ruckus when that stupid flying car ripped out the bars that I'd just had installed a few days ago? That bloody well should've woken up the whole neighbourhood! Dudders always was a sound sleeper, and even _he_ got woken up,"

"Well then, I suppose that means that the soundproofing that I had installed in my house was working too well," replied Amanda sarcastically, "Yes, Mister Dursley, I heard that unholy roar of an engine from all the way down in my kitchen. But are you sure you were not seeing things?"

"Seeing things? I know bloody well what I saw woman. And it's one of those _freaks_ driving a flying car. If you aren't going to help, then shove off and let me finish fixing up Petunia's roses. I doubt the little freak that was here is going to come back to help fix what he destroyed,"

Amanda was very perplexed indeed at that point. Just last night, her husband had said that there was no such thing as a flying car among wizards. And yet Vernon Dursley – the one man whose hatred for magic likely outstripped everyone else in all of Britain – claimed that his house had been vandalised by someone riding in a flying car, and that the Potter boy had somehow escaped in it.

Perhaps she needed to check with her husband again whether his facts were still up-to-date.

* * *

A week later, Amanda still had no idea about what could Vernon Dursley have seen that night. Her husband had even made a point to travel to Diagon Alley with them after Cordelia's textbook list had arrived, visiting the broom shops to check if one of them had diversified their product lines to include flying cars. A quick check with Gringotts' investment division showed that nobody had so much as given a thought to _making_ the things. After all, no self-respecting witch or wizard would be caught flying on anything else other than a broom or carpet, or perhaps a flying mount.

Amanda, however, was utterly bemused by the textbook list as they set about purchasing required school supplies. At a shop called Flourish and Blotts – which, to Amanda, seemed suspiciously overfilled for a bookstore – she and her daughter squeezed their way through crowds of people to get to a towering stack of books in the middle of the store.

"Cordelia," she muttered, picking up a gaudily-gilded book titled _Break with a Banshee_ and leafing through the novel-like book's first few pages, "Are you sure that this...textbook list...is legitimate?"

"'Course it is, mum," Cordelia replied, not even taking her eyes off _Year with the Yeti_ , "It's got the Hogwarts seal on it,"

"I certainly hope that there is a good reason for these books. They appear to be...entertaining novels. Not so much instructional textbooks or scientific papers. And this is for a subject called Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"It's still a good read!" defended Cordelia indignantly, "Oh, look at that. Isn't he gorgeous?"

Amanda frowned as she looked at what Cordelia was pointing out in her book. The concept of moving images in print (and sometimes including sound, of all things!) was no longer foreign to her, but to see the gaudy-looking wizard prance about with a wand in hand, striking up an (ineffectual) fighting pose against what looked much like a confused and stationary overgrown woolly monkey...it filled her with much doubt about the quality of the information in the book.

Her frown deepened as she realised what Cordelia had just said.

Gorgeous. She had called that ponce of a wizard _gorgeous_. Not a single mention of how effective she thought the book was as a teaching aid.

"Cordelia," she spoke levelly, "If your definition of a good textbook includes the attractiveness of its writer, I should be very, very concerned. This book appears to contain nothing other than the claimed exploits of this man, with little explanation of _how_ he has achieved them,"

If the other wizards and witches in the bookstore around her were offended (though mostly witches), she didn't care. If her daughter was looking at her as though she had ordered her grounded for an entire month, she didn't care either. The truth of the matter was that the book was full of little else other than a man's self-aggrandising words, and nothing else.

"It's still on the textbook list,"

"Indeed. I suppose it is time to pay for them, then," sighed Amanda in defeat. No matter what her thoughts were on the matter, the book was most certainly still on the textbook list, and had to be purchased.

Needless to say, her approval of the books only sank further when she ran into the author himself at the bookstore's exit. Gilderoy Lockhart, the man himself, insisted on signing each individual copy of his books. The blond's brilliant smile, while charming to almost all the other witches in the store, only served to thoroughly irritate her. He gave off the impression of a non-magical showman - someone who could dazzle entire crowds with their personality, yet was unable to demonstrate their skills when required. So when he announced loudly that he was going to teach at Hogwarts as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, her disapproval grew ever stronger.

"Ah, a Hogwarts student! I would be very happy to sign those books for you, young miss," he grinned, motioning for Cordelia to step forward.

"No, Cordelia. Thank you for the offer, Mister Lockhart, but I must refuse," she answered icily, when the man offered to sign the stack of six books that Cordelia held.

A losing proposition, when her own daughter had stars in her eyes and had all but dumped the books in front of him.

* * *

A/N:

A sillier, lighter chapter this time around before the coming of the second year. One has to wonder if Cordelia will become a believer in tinfoil hats and little green men, after what happened to the Dursley residence...


	20. 20 - Shades of Light and Dark

The first of September soon rolled around, and if Amanda was to be quite honest, it didn't come soon enough.

Gone were the stacks of textbooks and notes that used to be on Cordelia's desk. Gone were the scales, mortar and pestle and other potioncrafting tools that used to sit proudly by their side. In their place were a stack of the most _abominable_ texts known to mankind. Or at least, as much as Amanda had read of them.

Those books – she was very loath to call them books – had invaded every living space in the house thus far. The dinner table. The kitchen counter. Even her laboratory, on days that Cordelia was asked to assist. The girl simply could not tear her eyes away from the grandiose works of one Gilderoy Lockhart. Or was it his picture that had her ensnared?

Perhaps both. Cordelia simply could not keep quiet about the man. 'Lockhart did this'. 'Lockhart did that'. Darwin help humankind if this was not simply a phase that the girl was simply going through. At least, however, her troubles were _mostly_ at an end. Just another half hour before the Hogwarts Express would leave, and Cordelia with it.

"Cordelia. By Oppenheimer, will you please _be silent_ about that insufferable man for once," snapped Amanda as she and her family stepped through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "You have described his every exploit for the last week and a half, in great detail, without stopping. I have heard quite enough,"

"But I haven't gotten to the best part yet," pouted Cordelia. She still clung to a Lockhart novel as though her life depended on it.

"For once, I'm with your mother. Sorry, kid," Phineas muttered. He took out his wand and waved it about his head, causing a telltale whitish flash to pulse from his ears. "Ah, the joys of a well-placed Silencing Charm,"

Amanda blinked and scowled. "You mean to tell me that I was enduring her endless exposition on that foolish fop alone?"

"Uh...I...might have forgotten to apply it on you?"

"Unbelievable! You are sleeping on the couch tonight," Amanda hissed irritably. Hearing several footsteps coming in from behind them, she pulled them to the side.

A familiar slender blonde girl walked through the platform barrier with a bright flash and a faint pop. "Daphne!" cried out Cordelia happily, scooting off towards her friend. Daphne was taken quite off-guard when Cordelia had almost tackled her with an iron-gripped bear hug.

"Ugh—Cordelia, unhand me, you brute!" shrieked Daphne as she struggled to free herself.

Two more pops sounded behind Daphne. A tall, stern-looking man in a richly-embroidered silver robe stepped up beside her and appraised the scene. On her other side, a woman in an elegant form-fitting robe swept up to them.

Her golden blonde hair was a much darker shade than Daphne's, though she had the same elegant, willowy build as the Slytherin girl. Her ice-blue eyes held a cold, calculating gaze on Cordelia, as though appraising her silently. And from her scowl, it seemed as though she found Cordelia wanting.

"Daphne," she spoke calmly, "Who is this...girl?"

"I should also like to know that," added the man.

"She-" Daphne hissed, finally managing to pry herself from Cordelia, "-is my friend. Cordelia Flynn, of Gryffindor,"

That caused both the man and the woman to glance at each other questioningly. "A Gryffindor? Well, that is certainly news. You never mentioned that any of your friends were Gryffindors," the man said. "Considering that it is a rather entrenched Hogwarts tradition that Slytherins are shunned by the other Houses, I must admit that this news is rather...unexpected,"

Turning to Cordelia, he offered a thin smile. "Though not unwelcome, of course. For my daughter to speak of you so fondly as a Gryffindor, there must be something special about you. Perhaps we should introduce each other properly. I am Maurice Greengrass, Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass. I must admit that I have not heard of a House Flynn,"

Unpleasantly reminded of what had happened when she had first met Daphne on the train during her first year, Cordelia shot a pleading glance at Phineas. Hopefully her father was not too distracted to notice that she needed help. "I...uh...I'm Cordelia Flynn. But I'm not sure if I have a House,"

Maurice raised an eyebrow ever so subtly. "Ah, I see. Would I presume correctly that you are Muggleborn?"

Cordelia flinched when she heard that term. Maeve's 'education' was still rather fresh in her mind, after all. She didn't know how to answer this question properly without possibly offending the gentleman before her. Thankfully, her father seemed to have picked up on her discomfort and stepped in before she could make a fool of herself. "I'll take this from here, Cordelia. Run along now, I'm sure you want to see your friends after such a long holiday,"

"No, I should think not, Phineas No-Name. It is rather uncouth to leave an introduction half-finished," Maurice frowned. "Do I presume too much if I say I think that she is your daughter?"

If Phineas was offended, he didn't show any sign of it at all. "Not at all, Lord Greengrass. She is indeed my daughter. Please forgive her response, however," he responded brightly, "It is entirely my fault that I had not taken the time to tutor her on proper etiquette on how to respond in a manner suitable among the _cultured_ people of Wizarding society. After all, my own name was struck from House Black!"

"Piffle. Etiquette should apply to all. Now, as is custom, should you not introduce your daughter, as you are the Lord of...House No-Name?"

Phineas shook his head and gave Maurice the widest grin he could muster. "No, that right doesn't belong to me, actually. Perhaps you should speak to my wife first, as she possesses a title of higher rank than I,"

That got Maurice's attention. Amanda, up to that point, had been standing behind Phineas with her arms crossed. The Greengrass patriarch looked Amanda up and down and arched an eyebrow curiously. He cast a silent, motionless scan of Amanda, yet he could not detect a single shred of magic on the woman. Not even the telltale signature of a wand anywhere on her. Was the woman a Squib, or was Phineas simply making a practical joke by declaring a Muggleborn the head of a House?

Despite having graduated Hogwarts many years ago, there were several things that being in Slytherin taught someone. The foremost being that to err on caution was always better. And so he bowed to Amanda, careful not to give too much deference in case she was of lower rank, but also not so little as to insult her if she was actually a head of a Most Ancient and Noble House. "Greetings, milady. I am Maurice Greengrass, Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

Amanda took the hint better than Cordelia did. Recalling the titles that she apparently possessed, she said while offering a hand, "I am Amanda Flynn. Heiress Presumptive of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Eire. It is a...pleasure to meet you,"

When Maurice stared at her hand, she thought that perhaps she had made a faux pas. Did these nobles of the Wizarding world not use handshakes as a greeting? Her fears were somewhat allayed when Maurice slowly grasped her hand. She noted that he was feeling the signet ring on her hand rather closely – and that the ring was grew rather warm as he did so.

"Well met, Heiress Presumptive Eire. May I introduce my most beautiful wife, Victoria Greengrass, and my daughter Daphne Greengrass. Daphne, perhaps it is best for you to take your trunk to the train. Finding the best compartment would be rather difficult if you were to leave it too late,"

"Yes, father," Daphne replied with a curt nod. "Cordelia, would you like to come with me?"

Soon the two girls had boarded the train with their belongings, leaving the four adults alone on the platform. "Now that the girls have left, we may speak more freely. If I could be so direct, Heiress Presumptive Eire, I must admit that I am not aware of a British Most Ancient and Noble House with the name of Eire. Yet the House Ring on your hand indicates that your claim is true by the ancient laws of magic, and that the House is still active and present. I find myself intrigued about why this is,"

"I think that would be better answered by my husband. I have only been made aware of the existence of magic for about a year, after all,"

"Well then, that would explain much about your choice of dress. It is rare that an old line of magical people would wear up-to-date Muggle business attire. But please, do go on, Phineas. I would very much like to hear your story. And your wife's, of course,"

Phineas looked around. There were more and more people on the platform, and the last thing that their project needed was to have too many ears eavesdropping on their conversation. "Let's not stand in the middle of the platform," he said, pulling them to the side of the platform. Waving his wand once, he put a small privacy ward around the group. An action that drew a raised eyebrow from Maurice. "There. Now nobody can hear us or really notice us. Except, of course, for our children. We don't want them to think that we've just left, do we?"

"Is this really necessary, Phineas?" questioned Maurice, "I understand the need to be discreet about your profession while you were an active undercover Auror, but surely I am not under investigation _yet again_ , am I?"

"No, not at all. It's just that we-well, I don't believe that we are quite ready yet to announce the revival of another Most Ancient and Noble House,"

"And why would that be?"

"Because my...estate...is still under reconstruction," Amanda said, trying to keep all mention of Avalon out of the conversation. She still didn't know whether or not she could trust Lord Greengrass just yet; as familiar as he appeared to be with Phineas, the man still possessed an unsettling aura of cunning about him. As though he knew more than he lets on.

"An estate under reconstruction. If I may hazard a guess, this is a large estate, isn't it?" Maurice spoke, nodding in understanding. "One that is so large that it would cost well in the millions of Galleons. Somewhere cold and in the north,"

Amanda blanched. How did he know? Evidently, Amanda's reaction betrayed her and soon both Maurice and Victoria were smirking in amusement. "Forgive me, but your reaction was most amusing. It appears that we were correct about the location and size of your estate,"

"How did you know?" demanded Amanda, already thinking about ways of how she could demand satisfaction from those goblins of Gringotts. She was informed that Gringotts would maintain complete secrecy about the entire project; and yet, here was a complete stranger that was able to guess parts of what she was doing!

"I suppose I owe you an explanation. The Greengrasses have always been in the business of supplying Magical Britain with plants, both mundane and magical. Most times, the orders we receive are for either harvested parts of plants, or for a few seedlings or seeds at most. Imagine our surprise when Gringotts requested an enormous batch of crop seeds as well as more magical seedlings than we normally sell in a year! That alone raised a few questions about whether a new estate was being constructed, but none of the other Sacred Twenty-Eight have declared that they had purchased any new properties. Which meant that an unknown party was building an estate,"

 _Simple deduction. Of course,_ Amanda thought to herself. "I can accept that explanation as to how you knew I was building an estate. But the location?"

"Every single plant that was requested would thrive in cold climates," answered Victoria, "Except for a few that would not survive a strong frost, but greenhouses could easily be built to accommodate those,"

"And if you are concerned about your privacy, you can rest assured that Gringotts has never spoken to us about where your estate is. As is their standard procedure, all goods are picked up from our own fields and greenhouses by their workers; and thus, the location of your estate would remain secret, even to us," Maurice said, smiling, "That being said, I do think we could come to an agreement that would benefit both of us,"

"And what would that agreement be?"

"Nothing much. A simple declaration of friendship between our two Houses,"

"That...is all? Not a business deal, or a request for additional patronage?"

Maurice gave a short laugh. "Perhaps in the future. But if I could be honest with you, House Eire is a relative unknown in British Wizarding society. I highly doubt that any of the older families would be aware of your existence; we certainly wouldn't, if it had not been for us meeting by chance," Maurice murmured. His eyes roved over Amanda's shoulder, and on to Daphne and her friends. "No, this is not about business. As much as any person loves gold and wealth, the greatest treasures I have are my daughters, Daphne and Astoria. Daphne has never been particularly fond of others, and yet your daughter seems to have become quite well acquainted with her. Truth be told, I have never seen her so happy as this before,"

Looking over her shoulder, she spotted the two. Daphne was giggling as she watched Cordelia lead Huginn about with a piece of bread, which was dancing about in the air thanks to some spell that she had cast on it. Compared to the stiff, almost regal air that the girl had put up before, she looked almost...normal now. Almost as though she could afford to be relaxed for once.

"I think I see what you mean,"

"Then you will understand how much it would mean to Daphne if your daughter were allowed to visit Greengrass Manor during the holidays,"

"Is a declaration of friendship really required for that? God help magical society if parents had to consent to every friendship that their children make or break," noted Amanda. "There must be something else to what you offer,"

"Very perceptive. Yes, there is more to what I offer. As an unknown to magical society, you would represent a party of great interest to all the other Wizarding families of status. Has Phineas told you about the Great War?"

"He may have mentioned it before. Something about a...Lord Mouldy-warts, and his Death Eaters, trying to take over all of Britain?"

Victoria lost her composure and actually burst into laughter at that point. "Oh, Merlin, I am going to have to remember that one well. Lord Mouldy-warts indeed! No, that fiend's name was Lord Voldemort, but otherwise you are correct. But please, do not call him such in public. It does make others nervous. If you must, use either He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who,"

Amanda frowned. "And what does this have to do with the present? Phineas said that he has been killed twelve years ago,"

"Perhaps that is true. But his legacy lives on in his followers. Lord Malfoy, for example, still advocates the very same ideas that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has once put forth. Subjugation of all non-wizarding folk, both human and non-human. Now, before you say any more – let me say that the Malfoys are no friends of ours. In that war, we had opted to remain neutral to all factions, and yet he has himself led a raid on our greenhouses when we refused to offer You-Know-Who tribute. Tribute! To think of the nerve of that man – demanding Daphne's hand in marriage for Heir Malfoy as _tribute_ , as if she were a mere sack of gold to trade for protection against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?!"

"Surely somebody had to stand up to him?" Amanda gasped in disbelief. She had heard of the brutal deeds that had happened during Voldemort's reign of terror from Phineas, but even _that_ was something else.

"Indeed _somebody_ stood up to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his minions," Victoria murmured bitterly, "Albus Dumbledore, self-proclaimed leader of the Light faction. Always insisting that everyone could be redeemed. That everyone could turn back from the darkness. That the most evil could become good,"

"Albus Dumbledore? The Headmaster of Hogwarts?"

"The one and the same. The Auror corps were able to fend off the Death Eater attacks on our property, but only barely. Almost a fifth of our greenhouses were destroyed before the Death Eaters retreated; specifically, those containing plants for healing potions and salves intended for Wizarding hospitals. Even our storehouses containing harvested samples did not survive. I do not think I need to detail the effects of a mass shortage of those during a time of war,"

"That is a war crime,"

Maurice sighed quietly, though his eyes burned with cold fury. "Indeed it is. And yet, after the war, I had brought my case against Lord Malfoy into the Wizengamot – our council of Lords, and our highest judicial court – seeking to have justice done. The charges were for the destruction of vital medicinal raw materials which could have saved hundreds of innocent lives, the attempted extortion of myself, and of course the physical damage inflicted upon my property. I had ample evidence; the letter that Lord Malfoy had written to myself was, and still is, in my possession. Dozens of Aurors were present when the Death Eaters raided my greenhouses, every one destroyed clearly marked as medical in nature,"

Maurice took in a deep breath to calm himself. "Tell me, Heiress Presumptive Eire. If someone had wronged you grievously – perhaps threatened to kill your daughter, for example – what would you do?"

"If I could, I would kill them. Slowly," Amanda spoke darkly, "My daughter is my life's work,"

The fact that it was in more ways than people realise had been left unspoken. But if someone _did_ harm her precious daughter, she knew of all too many ways to inflict maximum pain on them. After all, one did not construct a human genome without knowing _exactly_ how every part of the body worked...and how it could be broken down most efficiently.

"Then you will understand my outrage when my case was thrown out of the Wizengamot by order of Dumbledore himself. There were no punishments levelled against Lord Malfoy for either charge, as he was apparently 'reformed' or had been working under coercion by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. And when I attempted to appeal against the man's decision, naturally my case was dismissed by majority vote of both the Light and Dark factions. We neutrals have always been in the minority, after all,"

"A despicable miscarriage of justice, and for what reason?" Amanda muttered angrily.

"I doubt that I would agree with any reason given, even if Merlin himself said it. But enough of this pity party. There is nowhere near enough Firewhisky to help us along. Now that you have heard of the Light and the Dark, I hope that you can see why neither is good for Wizarding Britain. If you would like, I could assist you with integrating into Wizarding society. I and my wife would be most delighted to help,"

"If it helps, dear, I've inspected the Greengrass Manor many times during my time as an Auror. Not once have I seen them carry anything Dark," added Phineas, though he quickly added, "Well...er, not much more than what other old families carry. Every family has spells that _could_ be considered Dark, of course,"

"Even the so-called Light families?" Maurice queried, an inquisitive gleam in his eyes.

"Yes, even them. You would not believe what I found in-"

"That is quite enough, Phineas. I believe that in the line of police work, you are not supposed to reveal details of what you have encountered. Especially to unrelated third parties," Amanda replied sternly, causing Phineas to flinch – and Maurice to burst into laughter. "Still, your opinion is much appreciated, Lord Greengrass. If you are willing to extend your assistance, then I will not decline. You have, after all, left me with a much better impression than Lord Malfoy,"

Now it was Maurice's turn to be surprised. "You have met Lord Malfoy?" he said sharply, scowling.

"Yes. A most detestable man. Insulting my husband at every chance he gets, insinuating that I was simply a classless non-magical woman worth less than even the lowliest, penniless witch. From what I have read of Cordelia's letters, his spawn's behaviour is equally vile. The apple does not fall far from the tree indeed, I suppose,"

"Indeed, Heiress Presumptive Eire, indeed. So, may I assume that you would accept my friendship?"

"I do not see harm in saying yes. So I suppose...that would be fine, Lord Greengrass,"

"Please. If we are to be friends, then you may call myself Maurice, and my wife Victoria,"

"And the same goes for you, Maurice. You may call me Amanda,"

By that time, the Hogwarts Express had blown its whistle. Great puffs of white steam were issuing from its engine, and students were clambering on after their last minute goodbyes to their parents and siblings. Spotting Cordelia on the rearmost carriage waving furiously at her from a window, Amanda raised her hand and waved back with a small smile on her face. Only when the train started to shift and pick up speed did she finally disappear into the carriage.

"And there goes our children for another year. Or perhaps just a few months, if they are returning home for the Christmas holidays," sighed Victoria, "Amanda, Phineas; it has been wonderful meeting you. Would you be interested in joining us for lunch at Greengrass Manor, perhaps? We could speak more freely at our home, without any prying eyes and ears about,"

Slipping a notebook out of her suit's breast pocket, she looked at her schedule for the day. There were a few cleaning supplies that she needed, but acquiring those could wait. For now, learning about the magical world first-hand was much more important. "That sounds...acceptable. I do not have anything more on my schedule this day,"

* * *

A/N:

And so the seeds of a Third Alternative are sown! Let's see how this informal alliance works out.

The-Only-Temporary-Name: Yep, hormones at work! Totally normal, and cannot be prevented. As for how Lockfart isn't in prison, well...he's a master of Memory Charms. I mean, considering how much of a female fan following he has in canon, I attribute it solely to the PG-13 rating of the book at the stage of the second book that he hasn't done anything...worse. I mean, he could cover up his tracks really, really well and get away with it.

LordMesirix: No promises. Just remember that Amanda is well acquainted with human physiology...to a very, very disturbing level. *hands Amanda a blunt scalpel and scoots off*

Dragon Man 180: It's totally happening, isn't it? XD


	21. 21 - The Flashiest Entrance

Hermione was utterly confused. She had wandered up and down the train, searching for any sign of Harry or Ron. Not one of the other Gryffindors had said that they had seen either of the two. Fred and George had simply joked that maybe 'ickle Ronniekins' had decided to look for the refreshments cart early, while Percy mentioned that Ron had stayed well behind the rest of the Weasleys on the train station. There was only one compartment left on the train that she had not yet opened. The rearmost one. She could hear laughter coming from inside, yet no matter how much she tugged on the door, it refused to budge.

"It is rude to try to enter without knocking," said a voice from the other side of the door. "Who is it?"

"Daphne, it's Hermione. Open the door,"

A brief pause, and the slightest of giggles came from inside the compartment.

"Hm. I do not think so, Hermione," Daphne sang mockingly, "You forgot the magic word-"

"Really, Daphne?"

"Indeed, Hermione. You forgot the magic word,"

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes,"

"Alright, fine," she huffed, "Please?"

"Please what?"

"Daphne, could you please open this door?"

"Thank you, that is _much_ better. Alohomora!"

Hermione was screaming at herself internally after she heard that incantation. She was a witch! She could have just unlocked the door herself, without having to ask like that! Inside the compartment, Cordelia had fallen off her seat and was laughing uncontrollably, while Daphne had the most crooked, irritating smirk that she had ever seen. Huginn, taking advantage of their distraction, poked her head out of her cage and helped herself to a half-eaten pumpkin pasty.

"You two are unbelievable," grumbled Hermione. "Why couldn't you have just opened the door, like anyone else?!"

"S-sorry, Hermione," choked out Cordelia, "I couldn't help myself. Why didn't you just unlock it? I mean, you've used that charm so many times last year,"

The bushy-haired girl's cheeks flushed bright pink. "I didn't—ugh, I didn't think of using magic! You know how it is, don't you? We're not supposed to use magic at home. The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic says so,"

"A fair claim...for a Muggleborn witch," Daphne commented, still smirking in amusement. "Still, I am surprised that you had not gone mad with being unable to use your wand for a couple of months. I know that I would have gone mad if that happened to me,"

That statement took a couple of seconds to sink in. "Wait—you mean...?" Hermione gasped. "You mean that _you actually used your wand_ at home?! You could get into trouble for that!"

"Well, obviously not, Hermione. I still have my wand, after all," smirked Daphne. "That law only applies to places where the Ministry Trace could track you. And as Greengrass Estate is thoroughly warded against detection, I can use my wand as often as I would like, and not a single letter would come my way,"

"That's so unfair. You can actually practice your spellcasting at home. Isn't that right, Cordelia?"

"Uh—ye—err...no—I mean, _yes_!" Cordelia stammered, torn between agreeing with her friend and revealing what she had been up to during the holidays. Something that Daphne did not miss, as the blonde narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Yes, yes, it is unfair. We really should all be able to practice our spellcasting,"

"See? At least Cordelia agrees with me. May I sit down now?"

"Of course. Take your pick of seats. We have locked this compartment for a reason, after all,"

As Hermione settled into a seat beside Cordelia, she noticed the pile of textbooks that was sitting beside the red-haired girl. The smiling face of Gilderoy Lockhart greeted her as she reached out and plucked the topmost one, causing her to squeal in delight.

"Merlin. Not you as well," sighed Daphne, rolling her eyes disapprovingly.

"What? He's a _wonderful_ wizard!" retorted a scandalised Cordelia. "You should read about how he banished that banshee in _Break with a Banshee_!"

"Yes! Or how he managed to trap a ghoul using nothing but a tea-strainer,"

"Well, I certainly do hope that you two would remember every last bit of those brain-rotting books," Daphne snarked, "I have had a brief read through them, and I honestly could not find a single bit of information that would be useful. Not a single spell incantation or instruction to be seen, but page upon page of useless, over-the-top storytelling. I still do not see how Lockhart has managed to earn his place as our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,"

"Daphne!" Hermione exclaimed, scandalised. "That's _Professor_ Lockhart! You can't just call him like...that!"

"Yeah! He's experienced a lot. You've got to take that back,"

"I will call him by as much respect as he is owed. Which is to say, nothing," said Daphne dismissively, "Have you even met the man? He was signing books, preening and strutting about like one of the peacocks in Malfoy Manor. Merlin, he even pulled Harry out of the crowd just for a photograph-"

Cordelia's jaw dropped. The girl was torn between intense jealousy and shock. On one hand, she was partly relieved that Harry was okay - though for some reason not on the train. On the other, she really, _really_ wanted a photograph next to that amazing new Professor that was to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts that year. "Daphne," she said slowly, pushing her jealousy aside for the moment. "Did you just say that Professor Lockhart pulled Harry aside for a photograph? When was this?"

"A week and a half ago, when he was signing all his books at Flourish and Blotts', the day after the textbook lists arrived. Why do you ask?"

"Because I saw Harry get...taken away by...some flying object, about three weeks before that," Cordelia hesitantly replied, "Something big, fast and had two very bright lights. Engine roaring like a motorbike or something that was going as fast as it could down a highway. It ripped out Harry's bedroom window, and when my mum talked to Mister Dursley the following morning, apparently Harry had escaped on it. I really thought something had abducted him,"

Hermione burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that she literally fell off her seat. Daphne seemed equally as bemused as Cordelia was about her reaction. "Hey! It's not funny, Hermione," Cordelia pouted, "Why are you laughing, anyway?"

"Oh, Cordelia," Hermione gasped, pulling herself back up into her seat, "Did you really think that Harry was stolen by aliens in a UFO?"

"What is this...you-eff-oh that you are talking about?" Daphne asked.

"An unidentified flying object. Or, as some people like to think, a flying vehicle driven by little green men,"

"So...like a broomstick being flown by an Irish leprechaun?"

Hermione knew that Daphne was simply trying to fit an unknown Muggle concept into what she knew, but the truly ridiculous image that she conjured in the Muggleborn witch's mind was too much. A flying saucer, being crewed by Irish leprechauns! She fell off her seat – again – in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"Did someone hit her with a Cheering Charm before coming in here?" Daphne asked Cordelia, completely befuddled about why Hermione was laughing so much.

"I don't think so. Come on, Hermione, I really want to know. What happened to Harry?"

"Sorry! – ugh – I saw him come with the Weasleys to Diagon Alley. Well, Knockturn Alley, actually; I found the Weasleys first, and they said they were looking for him too. It was the first time he used the Floo Network, and he somehow ended up in the wrong place,"

"At least he was not caught in Knockturn Alley. Father would never allow me to come with him when he needed to get something...special," muttered Daphne, "Sorry. Please continue. I think Cordelia looks like she's about to pass out. Breathe, Cordelia. Hermione isn't going anywhere,"

"So...uh...how did Harry end up with the Weasleys?"

Hermione simply shook her head. "He wouldn't tell me. And when I asked Ron, he wouldn't tell me either. I kept asking, of course, but then Fred slipped a Dungbomb into my back pocket. Or was that George? I couldn't tell," Wrinkling her nose as the memory of the event came to her mind, "I didn't bother asking after that, of course. I was too busy trying to get the smell out of my skirt,"

"I assume that they are hiding something that could potentially cause great trouble if someone knew about it," Daphne said thoughtfully, "I heard from my father that the head of House Weasley works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Could he...? No. That would be incredibly foolish and dangerous. Far too much of a risk,"

"What's on your mind, Daphne?"

"Even if I am not too familiar with Muggle devices, I still know that their cars are extremely loud when they need to go fast. That, and they have two or more lights on the front. Cordelia said that she heard its very loud engine, and that she saw its lights,"

"But cars are supposed to drive on the ground," Hermione countered.

"Are you a witch or not, Hermione?" groaned Daphne, "Stop thinking in Muggle terms. We wizards fly on broomsticks, and we use fireplaces to move from place to place. And let's not get started on Apparition and Portkeys. Simply put, there are many ways of moving around. We have flying brooms, and if you are wealthy enough, you can purchase a flying carpet from Egyptian wizards. Who is to say that a car cannot be enchanted to _fly_?"

"But dad said that no company in the magical world makes flying cars. He even went to Gringotts to check if there were companies matching that description," Cordelia said.

"Yeah. It's illegal to enchant Muggle devices to perform things that they shouldn't be able to do-"

"Only when the enchanter intends to _use_ that device," finished Daphne, "Besides, that is not what I am trying to tell you. What I am saying is, Lord Arthur Weasley is the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. The DMLE would not act on any report of misuse of Muggle artefacts unless the head of that Office – which is to say, Lord Weasley – were to report an incident. Or, in extreme cases, a large number of witnesses reporting the very same thing,"

"So he could...oh," Hermione said, trailing off as she realised what Daphne was suggesting.

"Yes. Who would report him to the DMLE? He was the _head_ of that section. He could act as he wished to with regards to Muggle devices, and nobody would be able to report it so long as he did not flagrantly show his work in public. I would not say that it is impossible for Lord Weasley to own an enchanted car,"

"But he wouldn't break the law like that...would he?"

"I would not say that he has broken the law. I am suggesting that it is a _possibility_ ," said Daphne smoothly, though her narrowed eyes flashed a warning to Hermione. "Unless someone has complete proof, it is not a good idea to say a Lord of a House is breaking the law. Even when you are nearly certain that what you think is true. Let's move away from this topic, before one of us says something that we may regret if overheard,"

"That's actually a pretty good point. Daphne. I wonder what we'll be learning this year?"

"I can't wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts," chimed in Cordelia dreamily. Her eyes were locked squarely on the book that Hermione still had in her lap. Or rather, the moving image of the wizard that was plastered on it. Daphne, noticing where Cordelia was looking, immediately groaned in regret.

* * *

Harry, as it turned out, did indeed not get kidnapped by little green men. Rather, Ron and the Weasley twins had decided to take the family car in the middle of the night and actually flew it all the way to Privet Drive to break Harry out of his relatives' house. And then, in a stroke of amazing wizarding brilliance – or foolishness, depending on how one looked at it – commandeered that very same car after they supposedly could not go through the gateway to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. And then proceeded to fly it, in noontime London, _without_ any form of invisibility being active.

Flying a car. In the middle of London.

All the way across the English countryside.

All the way to _Scotland_!

The two boys, apparently, had only realised that the invisibility field was not active a good fifteen minutes _after_ they had flown, which potentially gave almost all of London a good look at a vehicle which should definitely not be in the air.

"I can't believe those two!" both Cordelia and Hermione shouted.

Cordelia was in awe that they had flown so far without being caught by anyone. Well, unless one counted the hundreds of non-magical folk that had spotted them from office buildings, that was – but their memories had quickly been erased by the Ministry of Magic, according to the Evening Prophet. It was an action that was incredibly bold, to the point where Cordelia wondered if they were slightly mad.

Hermione, however, was muttering rapidly under her breath about how many rules and laws the two must have broken while doing their stunt. Not that her admonishments even made it past the adoring crowd of Gryffindors in the tower, who were ushering Harry and Ron in as though they were heroes.

"Bloody hell, mate, what an entry!"

"They'll be talkin' about that one for _years_!"

"Flying a _car_ to Hogwarts? Bloody brilliant!"

"I can't believe what I'm hearing. You two broke a lot of laws, broke a lot of rules, and you're-" Hermione grumbled aloud as she marched angrily towards Harry. Or rather, tried to. The gathered Gryffindors wouldn't budge for her; all of them, after all, wanted to hear his version of events. By the time she reached him, however, the black-haired boy, however, simply put up his hand.

"Later," he said exhaustedly.

"You can't just brush me off like that, Harry Potter! We need to talk!"

"Later," Harry repeated, and he slunk off into the boys' dormitories along with Ron. He didn't even bother to say good night!

"I can't believe those two," huffed Hermione in frustration, "Term hasn't even started yet and they're already in trouble. Isn't that right, Cordelia?"

"Yep. But why would they do something like that? I mean, I talked to dad before about what I could do if I somehow missed the train, and he just said that he'd Apparate me to a place called Hogsmeade. Then one of the Professors could come and get me," replied Cordelia, a frown on her face.

She was also fuming about how the boys had just brushed her off, though for a different reason. Didn't it even occur to Harry about just how worried sick she was about him disappearing from his house? And then not being on the train, or even being present at the Sorting Feast? What sort of friend was he, to act like that?!

"Do you think they'll be expelled for it? I mean, they did kind of break the Statute of Secrecy-"

"They won't be expelled. Professor McGonagall said that Minister Fudge has somehow excused them from any wrongdoing," Percy Weasley butted in. He looked no happier than both Cordelia or Hermione. "But I don't think my father would really appreciate it,"

"Why? I mean, if Harry's been excused then...?"

"I wouldn't imagine that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be too happy about having to Obliviate so many Muggles. They excused Harry, but that car's still ours,"

Comprehension dawned on Cordelia's face. "Oh. So...what's going to happen...?"

Percy shuddered. "Well, we'll have to wait for tomorrow's Daily Prophet. Now, you two should go to your dorms. The same applies for all of you! It's almost curfew, and you all have classes tomorrow!"

* * *

A/N:

Minor filler prior to starting the second year. *sets down egg timer on how long it would take Lockhart to be found as a fraud, only to discover Cordelia has jammed a toothpick into the spring*...well, damn.

Cordelia's personality should start to come out more soon after her mother's rather authoritarian grip loosens, and hormones of puberty start to kick in. Yes, I'm well aware of her rather neutral and bland personality at the moment, which is partly how it is for younger children. Particularly those that are strictly controlled by their parents for most of their childhood.

SenHajime: Well, they won't be 11-12 forever, so there's that :P

LordMesirix: It isn't explicitly stated that the Greengrasses were neutral in lore, but they weren't mentioned as Death Eaters either. I'm taking the view here that they're neutral. And let's not forget that Amanda is a scientist in control of a remote, virtually inaccessible island. Maybe she needs a few...test subjects...if you get my drift.


	22. 22 - Pixies and Posers

It would suffice to say that Cordelia found her first morning back quite disheartening. She had been forced to sit on the far side of the Gryffindor table, thanks to a huge group of adoring Gryffindors that all wanted to sit beside Harry. Even the boy's best friend had been shunted aside, taking up the seat across Harry's. Not that Ron even had a chance to speak with Harry at all; the Gryffindors _all_ wanted to have a word or several with the Boy-Who-Lived regarding his latest adventure. Which meant that his poor red-headed friend had been sidelined once more, and was sulking gloomily while devouring copious amounts of food.

"You know, Cordelia, now that I think about it," muttered Hermione in her ear, as the brown-haired girl eyed Ron chewing with his mouth open, "I take back what I said about you being the one that really needs to get some better table manners. You still do, but Ron probably needs them more,"

Cordelia gulped down another mouthful of eggs and toast. "Really, Hermione?" she replied, barely a moment after washing it down with some pumpkin juice.

"Well, at least you don't speak with your mouth full," sniffed the girl disapprovingly. She picked up a nearby napkin and dabbed away at a spot of pumpkin juice that clung to Cordelia's cheek. "I'm surprised that nobody's spoken to Ron yet about closing his mouth while chewing,"

"And he still managed to get a seat near Harry," Cordelia sighed disappointedly. "I've wanted to talk with Harry since last night, but I can't even get near him! How does he even..."

"Being in the same dormitory might have helped. They always come down together to the Great Hall, as they always do," she replied offhandedly.

Taking out a copy of _Voyages with Vampires_ and opening it to a bookmarked page, she was about to continue reading where she had left off before an ungodly shriek tore through the hall. The shrill voice of the Weasley matriarch, amplified a hundred times louder than any human voice had any right to be, deafened every person in the hall. Bits of dust fell from the ceiling as the entire room shook from the thundering voice ringing in everyone's ears.

" **-STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU. YOU WAIT TILL I GET A HOLD OF YOU-"**

Blissful silence met Cordelia as her hairpin's enchantment took hold and silenced the Howler. And judging by the relieved expression on Hermione's face, so had her friend's. "Wow. I guess that clears up what Mrs. Weasley thought of Ron and Harry's way of coming to Hogwarts," Cordelia murmured, watching Ron slowly sink further and further into his chair. His face almost matched his hair in colour, which was saying something as Weasleys' hair were almost legendary in their luminosity. "Ron doesn't normally care that much about getting into trouble,"

"He deserved it," Hermione muttered, turning her attention back to the textbook in front of her. "I mean, he did break a lot of laws and probably a lot of rules too,"

"Yeah. I kind of want to know why they thought flying to school was such a great idea, though,"

With an amused snort, Hermione replied, "Your guess is as good as mine. You can always ask them during class. We've got double Herbology first with the Hufflepuffs, if I remember correctly,"

* * *

Herbology, it seemed, did not agree with Cordelia. Her thoughts, already preoccupied with thoughts of how exciting Defence Against the Dark Arts would be with the glamorous and smashingly handsome Professor Lockhart, only got even more muddled when said Professor was at the Herbology greenhouse that they were supposed to be at. Evidently, he had been teaching Professor Sprout some new tricks about handling the Whomping Willow; though for some reason, his robes were immaculate while Professor Sprout's own were covered in clods of earth from head to toe.

Perhaps it was a sign of his extreme competence? Perhaps he didn't need to get so dirty to get things done. Whatever the case, her thoughts were muddled even further when the Professor opened his mouth and flashed them a truly magnificent smile that outshone the sun. And judging by the swooning witches beside her, she wasn't the only one affected. Even Hermione looked oddly unfocused.

It didn't matter what he was actually saying – just that he was amazingly, _incredibly_ gorgeous.

"-Greenhouse three today, chaps!" shouted Professor Sprout, ushering Professor Lockhart away. A chorus of disappointed 'awws' came from the females in the class, much to the chagrin of the disgruntled little witch that was their Professor.

Mandrakes – or as Cordelia referred to them after class, 'annoying, screaming plants in the shape of fat, smelly, muddy, ugly babies' – were the order of the day. Decidedly dangerous without earmuffs, they were also decidedly dangerous when handled without thick leather gloves. And even with gloves, as the copper-haired girl learned after the twentieth time that she had been bitten by said plant-baby that day.

"I didn't think plants could be so vicious," grumbled Cordelia, wringing her thoroughly bruised fingers. Every one of her fingers were black and blue, courtesy of screaming, kicking and biting plants. "How come you didn't get bitten, Hermione?"

"Well, I think you were holding them too close to their mouths," Hermione replied disapprovingly. "You know you were only supposed to hold on to the stems above their heads, didn't you?"

"You didn't do much better," said Cordelia sullenly, "At least I got all of mine into pots on time,"

"At least I didn't damage mine too badly. I still don't understand how you managed to squash three of them while trying to put them into bigger pots. Professor Sprout didn't look too happy about that,"

Indeed, the squat little professor did _not_ appreciate having her mandrake seedlings squashed to pulp. The first crushed one raised a questioning eyebrow. The second earned her a warning about handling the little plants with more care. The third earned her a detention, as those plants were rather costly to replace, and Professor Sprout refused to believe that the mandrakes were so frail and fragile as to simply squash while being shoved into their newer, larger pots. In the end, talking back to her only resulted in Cordelia being issued an extra two feet of essays to write on the proper care and handling of mandrakes, on top of the detention.

"I guess I finally managed to beat Harry at breaking rules for once," Cordelia muttered gloomily. "A detention on the first day of the school year. On the first lesson, even. How did Harry fly a car into school and not get so much as a detention, anyway?"

"But they did. Professor McGonagall said so. At least you got into a detention because Professor Sprout thinks that you need to learn how to handle plants with care, and not because you were breaking rules for no good reason,"

"I still really don't want to write an extra two feet of homework, Hermione. Twelve inches on the healing properties of mandrake looks bad enough,"

The bushy-haired witch simply shrugged. "Extra study has never hurt anyone," she declared, earning her a withering glare from Cordelia. "Why are you looking at me like that? You never complained when we did extra work on Transfiguration after class!"

"That's different. Transfiguration is actually fun,"

"Every subject is important in its own way,"

"Ugh, fine, _mum_ ," grumbled Cordelia, "Stupid Herbology. What do we have after lunch?"

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out her timetable. It was at this point that Cordelia noticed something that had been very much altered in Hermione's timetable.

Something that she herself had done.

"You as well?" said Cordelia, a grin creeping onto her face. Hermione blushed as she realised what Cordelia was speaking about. Her timetable, as it stood, had every class written neatly in perfect cursive writing. However, one could not ignore the gleaming pink hearts that circled every one of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. "Yep, definitely!"

"What—oh, Professor Lockhart's classes? Of course I did," gushed Hermione. The normally reserved girl was bouncing up and down in excitement. "He's amazing! I can't wait to see him in action in his classes. It's going to be incredible! Did you know about the time where he froze ghoul in _Gadding with Ghouls_? I don't think I could keep my wits in that situation,"

"Oh, I think I know exactly which one you're talking about," giggled Cordelia. Her eyes were misting over with adoration. She could see it now; the fabulous Professor, in his billowing robes, banishing evil creatures left and right with so little effort. "But I don't think that's the best one. Have you read the other books too? Come on, let's get all this dirt washed off first. We can talk about those amazing books over lunch,"

Professor Lockhart's class didn't come soon enough. It was a mixed Slytherin and Gryffindor one, and notably, the Gryffindors and the Slytherins were speaking animatedly with each other before class. Well, the females were. Except for one particular blonde, whose acid-green eyes rolled with distaste when she spotted Hermione and Cordelia also taking part in the decidedly Lockhart-centric discussions around her.

"Hermione. Cordelia," Daphne greeted them stiffly. "I see that you two are...excited for this class,"

"Yes! We finally get to see him in action!" Cordelia said cheerfully.

"I highly doubt that we would learn anything useful from him," sighed Daphne.

"He couldn't possibly have written those books if he didn't do them, Daphne. I'm sure that he will be a _great_ teacher," an enthusiastic Hermione replied, "Can't you give him a chance?"

"Oh, I certainly will. One chance," she said dismissively, "But even that I think is excessive. Mark my words, there will be nothing of use that we will learn from him today,"

It did not take that much longer before the rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered for the class, and found themselves welcomed in by a smiling Professor Lockhart. Who instantly reminded them all that he had won the Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award for five weeks in a row, in addition to being the very proud owner of a bunch of titles that sounded impressive – and yet meant very little to the vast majority of the class.

"I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by simply _smiling_ at her!" Lockhart joked, as he flashed yet another toothy smile around the classroom.

Very few people responded. Those who did merely offered weak chuckles or thin smiles – or half-hearted clapping, as Cordelia and Hermione did.

"I see that you've all bought a full set of my books. Well done, well done indeed," he said, as though he had not expected it. He did, after all, set the requisite books for the course – which, naturally, involved every one of his books. Several of the boys and a few of the girls shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they took out their tattered and worn second-hand copies of the texts. The brand new ones were extremely expensive, and those who were less well-off simply couldn't afford to buy so many. Ron's, in particular, looked as though they were only barely held together by Spellotape.

"Let's start today with a little quiz. Just to check how well you have read my books, of course. We can't have you doing this course without knowing exactly what I did!"

 _A test? Already?!_ Cordelia gasped, paling at the thought. She had only read _almost_ all the books. She still had a few pages left in _Voyages with Vampires_! How was she supposed to do this? She really didn't want to look like a fool for the second time in one day!

Glancing around as Lockhart began to hand out the test papers, she saw that several other girls were panicked as well. Hermione, however, was rubbing her hands together excitedly as she got her paper.

"Okay, Cordelia, okay. You can do this. If Hermione can, you can too," she whispered to herself, trying to remember everything that she could from the books.

A paper landed in front of her. "You have thirty minutes – starting NOW!"

At first, Cordelia thought that it was a joke. A question asking for his favourite colour? His favourite hair conditioner? Secret ambition? On and on the inane questions went, down three full sheets of paper, until it ended with a question for his ideal birthday gift.

An ideal birthday gift. Was he being serious? A slight peek from the corner of her eyes revealed that several other students were likewise bemused by the paper, and she had little doubt that it was due to-

"Ah, Miss Flynn! I know that my questions are too fascinating, but you have your own set of questions to answer. Two points from Gryffindor. Do keep your eyes on your own work,"

 _You stupid girl, Cordelia! You're sitting at the front!_ she internally chided herself. As silly as this was, it was still a test.

Half an hour later, she finally scribbled down the answer to the fiftieth question. "Quills down, everyone. Let's see how well you have read my books, shall we?"

Hermione was beaming broadly when Lockhart announced two minutes later that she had achieved full marks. Others weren't so fortunate – though by this point, it looked as though very few of the class even remotely cared. Ron was staring blankly at the vain professor in disbelief, while both Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas looked as though they were about to fall off their chair while laughing. A quick glance to the rear of the class gave Cordelia a good look at a smirking Daphne, who caught her gaze and nodded wryly as if to say 'I told you so!'

Hoping that at least the practical section of the class would be useful, Cordelia stared at the shaking cloth-covered box on Lockhart's desk. It was trembling this way and that rather violently, while muffled tinny shrieks she could hear coming from it. What it was, she didn't know; Lockhart did meet a rather large number of creatures during his travels, after all. Was it a vampire? A grindylow? A kappa, perhaps?

"On to business, then! Be warned," Professor Lockhart announced grandly, as he returned to his desk, "It is my job to prepare you against the most despicable, foulest creatures known to wizardkind! They may be your darkest, most deepest fear. Or they may not be, but are still unwelcome to see. All I ask is that you remain calm,"

Now he had Cordelia's attention. And judging by the silence around her, the rest of the class' attention.

"What are they, Professor?" piped up Ron, now looking rather pale.

"Ah, that would be telling, would it not, Mister Weasley?" he smirked. Yanking the cloth off the box, he shouted out, "I present to you...CORNISH PIXIES!"

Cordelia blinked. The little electric-blue fairy-like creatures looked positively harmless. Sure, they were rushing this way and that, grabbing onto the bars of their cages and pulling with all their might – but they did not look evil. Not even the least bit. In fact, if one could discount their screaming and screeching and shrieking, they could even be considered _cute_.

Seamus snorted and laughed out loud.

"Yes?" Professor Lockhart said, smiling as he faced Seamus.

"Professor? They – they aren't dangerous, are they?"

"Don't be too sure about that!" said Lockhart brightly, wagging a finger in his direction, "Tricky little blighters, they are! Right then. Let's see what you can do with them!"

Lockhart removed the cover of the box, and dozens of pixies immediately shot out of the box. It was utter chaos. Books were thrown about, inkwells smashed, quills used as darts, robes being pulled and students being tripped. Girls with longer hair soon squealed in terror as their hair was used as skipping rope by several pixies at once. Students with more sense than most dived under tables, while Neville somehow found himself hanging from the chandelier on the ceiling by the hood of his robes. More than a few chairs were thrown about against walls and windows, and several desks were tipped over by rampaging pixies.

"Ah! Get off me!" Cordelia yelled, feeling a couple of pixies start to pull on her hair. Whipping around, she punched one of them in the face, hearing a nice loud _crack_ for her efforts; one pixie fell to the ground, out cold with a crumpled nose and several teeth missing.

"Come on, now, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted over the chaos. Rolling up his sleeves and brandishing his wand, he bellowed, " _Peskipiksi Pesternomi!_ "

Nothing happened. Not even the slightest glow on his wand. A pixie, coming up from behind him, snatched the wand out of his fingers and immediately threw it out the nearest window. The chandelier, no longer able to hold up Neville, crashed to the floor and narrowly missed several students.

"Stun them!" Hermione called out to the class as she shot red stunners at those that flew more slowly than others. Not that the other students were even remotely interested in helping, of course, being naturally more inclined to protect themselves.

To the students' relief, the bell rang soon after. Those nearest the door immediately bolted out of the classroom, not caring that they had left their precious Lockhart books behind. Others who were not so fortunate had to clamber over bits of broken chairs and desks, while dodging inkwells and quills that were being tossed about. Daphne, whose path was cut off by several high piles of chairs, tables, bags, books and a fallen chandelier, had been forced to go all the way around the entire classroom.

"Having fun, Cordelia?" Daphne asked with a smirk, ducking under yet another flying inkwell.

Cordelia had several pixies already laid out unconscious on the ground, the numerous tiny teeth scattered around her evidence of what she did. There wasn't any time to aim at so many little flying targets zooming around near her, so she simply punched them as they came close. "Shut up and help me, Daphne!" she hissed, decking another one across the jaw and sending it sprawling to the floor.

"Only if you say the magic word," she sang in a mocking voice, earning a furious snarl from Cordelia.

"Daphne, watch out!" shrieked Hermione from the other side of the classroom.

Whipping around, Cordelia saw the shadow of something large hovering above Daphne. Six pixies had decided to lift the heavy iron chandelier from the ground and dangled it above the girl.

Cordelia had only a moment to act.

The pixies let go of the chandelier. Daphne didn't see it.

She needed to get her friend out of the way. The fastest possible way.

She charged at Daphne. The blonde's eyes shot wide open as Cordelia shoved her to the floor, skidding several feet away and out of the chandelier's path. A world of pain met Cordelia as the iron chandelier crashed against her head, causing stars to flit in and out of her vision. And that was before she too crumpled to the floor and onto her knees, clutching her head in agony. The chandelier, having done its job, fell to the side with a loud clang; a bloody red stain and a deep dent marking where the fixture struck Cordelia's head.

"Owww!" she screeched.

"Cordelia! Are you okay? _Stupefy! Stupefy!_ " Hermione shouted, jogging over to her after stunning two more pixies.

"Are you serious, Hermione? Does it look like I'm okay?!" hissed Cordelia angrily, staggering to her feet and glaring murderously at the pixies laughing wickedly above her head. A thin trail of blood snaked its way down the left side of her face and dripped off her chin. Her wand was dripping embers at that point.

"Well, if I could just bother you three to put these pixies away-"

"Put them away, Professor?" snarled Cordelia, "With pleasure. _Incendio!_ "

A jet of white-hot flames shot out of her wand and engulfed the six that had lifted the chandelier. The pixies shrieked in pain for less than a second and fell silent, their charred bodies hitting the floor soon after and crumbling to little piles of black ash.

"-Into their...cage," Lockhart finished weakly, stunned by what had just happened. "My goodness, Miss Flynn, I didn't ask for you to destroy them! They were school property!"

"And you are a professor, Professor Lockhart!" she roared, rounding on the man, "You are supposed to _teach_ us how to deal with them! Instead, you _cowered_ under your table! Where was the nerve that you showed in _Year with the Yeti_?"

Evidently, she had hit a nerve. Outraged by her suggestion that he was a coward, he puffed out his chest and declared, "But I have showed you how to deal with them! You simply did not use the correct wand movements, or the incantation. Allow me to demonstrate-"

" _Glacius Maxima!_ " chanted Daphne. A wave of ice and snow pulsed out from her wand, painting the whole room white. One by one, the chilled pixies fell to the ground, unable to withstand the bitter cold. Such was the amount of magic that she had expended that she had to lean against a fallen table to stand. "There, _Professor_ , are your pixies," she panted, fixing him with the frostiest glare she could muster. "Now, if you would _please_ let us go, I believe we have an injured friend to escort to the hospital wing,"

The man blinked once. Twice. And then his expression shifted from outrage to his usual shining, white-toothed smile, though there was little warmth behind his eyes now. "Ah, of course. By all means, do so, Miss...Greengrass. Five points to Slytherin for sorting out the pixie problem. I daresay that I could not have done it any better myself. And Miss Flynn? Five points from Gryffindor for insulting a staff member,"

"Let it go, Cordelia," whispered Hermione into Cordelia's ear warily. She did not miss the hateful glare that the copper-haired girl had for her former idol - or the fact that she still had her wand clenched tightly in her first, still emitting glowing embers. Truth be told, she was more than a little worried about what might happen if she didn't separate them quickly enough. "Daphne, do you need help?"

"I believe I...should be fine," Daphne grunted. She pushed herself off the table and tottered about unsteadily, tripping on a fallen chair before falling on her backside with a yelp. "Okay. I do require some assistance,"

A minute later, the three of them were out of the classroom. Hermione guided an unsteady and disoriented Cordelia, while Daphne leaned heavily on Cordelia's shoulder. All of their books had been hastily packed into their bags, which were now hanging off Cordelia's other shoulder. "Sorry for making you carry them, Cordelia," Hermione apologised, "I would do it, but carrying twenty-one of those heavy books just isn't possible for me,"

"S'okay," muttered Cordelia, stumbling to one side before correcting her balance. "I'm not mad at you. I still can't believe how bad that lesson was, though. I didn't learn a single thing,"

"He just wanted to give us some hands-on experience," Hermione said matter-of-factly. Cordelia stopped and looked at her strangely, as did Daphne.

"Hermione," Daphne sighed, "I do not know whether I should also ask Madam Pomfrey to check you for compulsion charms,"

"What do you mean?"

"That foolish fop clearly has no grasp on the subject that he is 'teaching'-"

"Rubbish," Hermione interrupted her, "You've read his books, haven't you? He's done a lot of amazing things,"

"Things that _he_ says he's done," muttered Cordelia.

* * *

A/N:

Welp, another one down. Cordelia's head vs chandelier, and it seems her head won - though barely. Let us see how Amanda will react once she learns that her daughter had suffered a head injury in a class led by a totally incompetent fool.

Trait gained: Wroth. This character truly has a hot temper.

SenHajime: You'll have to see, won't you, when it comes to who goes with who? :P As for someone slapping Cordelia when she's fangirling over Lockhart, I think that's already been dealt with by a heavy iron object and a healthy dose of pixie mischief.

LordMesirix: I have plans on how that heritage will be revealed in a messy manner in future chapters :D And messier is always better.


	23. 23 - Laying the Cornerstone

To say that Amanda was unimpressed by Hogwarts was an understatement. No, she was _furious_.

It had only been three days since term had started, and yet she found herself reading a letter delivered by a raven that had incessantly pecked at her window. Apparently, her daughter had gotten into an accident in a class taught by none other than the fabulous, most charming and enchanting Gilderoy Lockhart. How she had managed to be struck on the head by a falling chandelier – and received a severe concussion, if the letter had been correct – she did not know. Nor did she remotely even care about the details.

No, what she did care for was why exactly did it take the school so long to send her a notice of what had happened. Which was to say, they never did. Her daughter wrote the only letter she received regarding the incident, which was also accompanied by the school healer's diagnosis of the extent of her injuries.

"Unbelievable. Do these fools know how serious a head injury can be?" snarled Amanda, crumpling up the healer's letter and tossing it into the fireplace. "And three days to notify us about this? Completely unacceptable!"

Phineas placed a hand on Amanda's shoulder. "Madam Pomfrey is a fully licensed Mediwitch, dear. I wouldn't be too worried-"

"You will stop talking right now, Phineas Carolus Black, or so God help me, you will be sleeping outside in the cold tonight. Without dinner, a blanket or a bed," the red-haired scientist hissed, glaring at her husband. "As durable as I had designed Cordelia to be, the matter still remains that we have not been notified regarding Cordelia's injury. In fact, judging by the fact that it was our daughter that sent the letter, I would go so far as to say that Hogwarts had never intended to let us know to begin with,"

She took a calming breath and closed her eyes. "She was fortunate that it was only a concussion and a slight crack on her skull, and nothing more. What if it were more serious? What if she were struck so hard that she were to fall comatose? Would it then still fall on our daughter to let us know, when she cannot?"

Silence met her ears.

"I should suppose you do not know the answer, or are unwilling. No matter. I will make time in my schedule to visit Headmaster Dumbledore personally in the coming weeks,"

"Is that really necessary?"

A thin, crooked smile crept onto her lips. "Why, yes, yes it is. I should like to see the teaching conditions of Hogwarts myself, to see if our daughter's educational needs are being met. After all, the Heiress of a Most Ancient and Noble House deserves nothing less than the best possible education and care. Surely Headmaster Dumbledore knows this,"

She would have to thank Victoria Greengrass for enlightening her about Wizarding customs later. It was incredible how many privileges had been lavished on the very old, wealthy and respected families. One of them being that if the Lord or Lady of one of the greater Houses had even so much as a suspicion that their children were being mistreated, it was possible for them to demand satisfaction from the (presumably) guilty party. Not that the right was frequently exercised, of course, though it did help that it meant Dumbledore could not outright refuse a demand to meet in person without incurring an additional slight.

"Whatever happens regarding my daughter's well-being must come later. I will have to write a letter that Huginn must deliver to Headmaster Dumbledore first. I do believe, however, that the goblins said that they would have completed the first phase of constructions by this evening. Phineas, if you would? I should like to see what they have accomplished,"

"Yes, dear," Phineas muttered, taking her hand and turning on the spot.

Moments later, they had reappeared in the ruined town surrounding Avalon Castle.

Or rather, it should be said, a clearing where there was once a ruined town. Amanda had to admit that the goblins were extremely efficient. With the right incentives, doubly so; an offer of a two percent pay bonus on rapid completion of the work had spurred them to work day and night on the castle and the surrounding town. An extra one percent ensured that they would comply with modern building methods, enforced by a few Muggleborn wizards and witches who were civil engineers in the Muggle world.

"Lady Flynn. Welcome back to Avalon,"

And that was one of them. Doctor Cheltenham. A portly man with thin, mousy hair and an equally wispy moustache greeted her, bowing with a flourish. He was one of the first contacts that Phineas had recruited to their cause, all too happy to accept a generous salary and the promise of house and land. Now, dressed in bright overalls and wearing a hard hat under a permanent shield charm, he was the foreman in charge of construction works.

"Ah. Doctor Cheltenham. How goes work on my property?"

"Very good, ma'am, very good indeed," he said with a broad smile. "The goblins are doing exceptionally fine work with the materials that you have ordered in. I have to say, it's refreshing to be actually allowed to work with a virtually limitless budget for once,"

"That was not the report that I was asking for, Doctor. Please get to the point,"

"Yes, yes, I know, I know, you're a busy lady and all that. I still needed to say it, though," he quickly added, his smile faltering somewhat as he looked at a clipboard he was carrying. "The castle above ground has been completely dismantled. All books and other valuables have been transferred to the underground vaults; the goblins did that on their own,"

"And my ancestor's remains?"

Cheltenham shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Well, I'd have to say that she's certainly less friendly than a Hogwarts ghost. We've managed to move her remains to an underground room, as you've requested, and put her in a crystal coffin,"

"Did you place the artifacts around her inside her coffin?"

"I—well, yes, of course," he stuttered, "One of the workers were cursed by that ghost – the Morrigan, I think she called herself – when they tried to cast some diagnostic charms on the crown and the sceptre. Just out of safety habits, you see – he was a curse-breaker for Gringotts – and that ghost went into an unholy rage and started throwing Bone-Breaking Curses faster than he could blink. If it wasn't for one of the goblin workers dragging him out of the room and treating him immediately, I'm sure he would've died,"

"And this is why you should do exactly as I ask," sighed Amanda. "No more, no less. Especially when dealing with artifacts that are hers. If that man is still able to speak, I would speak with him later. Now, I would rather know more about how you are progressing with the construction of our first facility,"

"The Materials Research Laboratory?" queried Cheltenham. He rifled through several more sheets on his clipboard before finally settling on a green sheet of paper. "Hm. Yes, that...I think it might be better to show you. Come with me,"

The engineer led Phineas and Amanda up the path leading towards where the castle once was. The moat was still there, now cleared of debris and filled with clean water. Over the moat, however, the old and mouldy drawbridge had been replaced by a permanent bridge. One that was constructed of silvery-white metal that gleamed under blue magical flames; its slender metal framework formed into the likeness of a raven in flight, while stained glass of various hues of blue and green filled in the gaps. If she wasn't imagining it, the glass was glowing faintly from within, as though little stars had been trapped inside.

"The glass is enchanted to be nearly indestructible," he explained, noticing that Amanda had stopped short of the bridge and looked at him questioningly, "As is the titanium alloy frame. It's safe to walk on,"

To demonstrate it, the man walked onto the bridge and jumped up and down. It didn't even shift the least bit.

"Excellent," she said, walking across it and admiring the handiwork. "I suppose this is the goblins' work?"

"Oh, very much so. They were all too happy to start working on a project of this size, I can tell you. Said something about not being given enough of a challenge over the last four hundred years when it came to building. Anyway, the curtain wall around the castle's been brought down, and we've erected new ramparts-" he gestured towards the low stone walls that now stood there, "-and goblins are etching runes on them to generate a barrier,"

"So if this castle were to be attacked, this barrier would protect it from hostile spells?"

"Precisely. Transfiguration, banishing charms, cutting curses, bombardment curses, you name it. But that work would take another five years at least, so we'll have to trust that the island's original wards will still do their job,"

Amanda nodded slowly. Five years was quite a long time, but if Maeve had said that the wards had lasted for centuries without maintenance, then it could last a little longer while the new wards were being erected. "Very good. I look forward to seeing them activated,"

"It'll definitely be something to look at. Now, I think you'll love what we've done to the courtyard. Or...well, the castle itself, really,"

Where the castle once stood was a circular clearing. Goblins were scratching their heads as what looked like a cement mixer the size of a house poured a never-ending stream of wet concrete onto the ground. A woman behind the device was poring over a set of plans, comparing them with an ornately-dressed goblin, while another man beside her was smoothing the concrete with simple waves of his wand. On sections where the concrete had dried, there were designs painted on them with some lurid pink paint that seemed to glow in the dim light. Six more ramps led away from the central clearing, each bearing the same design as on the entry bridge. One smaller tower, made of white marble, rose out of the southernmost edge of the circle, already connected to one of the ramps.

"As per your design, the castle will be the centre of the new facility. There will be six smaller towers surrounding the central tower-" Cheltenham spoke, pointing to each of the ramps in turn, "-of which, only one tower we have managed to complete so far,"

"I assume that the southern tower is the Materials Research Laboratory?"

"Yes, yes it is," he said, grimacing, "Doctor Davis is very excited about the prospect of working in such a well-equipped laboratory. Nine floors of fully self-contained facilities, with one more underground lab for hazardous materials? Last I saw, he was jumping up and down for joy and telling _everyone_ about how wonderful his new toys were. I have to say, I'm very curious about your choice of research focus. Why materials?"

"Simply because the first problem that needs to be conquered is how to power Muggle devices on this island," said Amanda. "Once that is complete, then we can progress on to other, newer lines of research,"

"Ah, yes. Electrical devices have never worked properly in a magical environment. Something about it damages the circuitry, I'm told. Well, if you would like a tour of this tower, I'm happy to give you one,"

"That should not be necessary, but thank you all the same. I will examine it on my own," replied Amanda.

"Well, alright. If you need some assistance, just come and find me, and I'll help as best I can. If you can, however, please drop by our house on Sunday evening. My wife wants to offer her thanks to you for providing a home and jobs for us. It's very difficult for us Muggleborns to find a decent living in the magical world,"

"An unfortunate situation that I hope would be corrected eventually. Your gratitude is noted, however, and appreciated. Good evening, Doctor Cheltenham,"

The portly engineer nodded in response and walked away, leaving Amanda lost in her thoughts. The Materials Research Laboratory was ready for use, but the other towers were still being constructed. There was no electricity available to power non-magical electronics, and she doubted she could manufacture anything without it.

And without manufacturing, she had nothing to sell. Nothing to make money back with, to pay for the costs of running Avalon.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed in frustration.

"A Knut for your thoughts, dear?"

"Make it fifty thousand Galleons, and perhaps I shall think about it," Amanda replied darkly. "Phineas, we have recruited nearly a hundred Muggleborn witches and wizards to work under us. Avalon's vault is still quite full at this time, but it will not remain so forever. We have to pay their salaries and purchase supplies and materials. Some of which, need I remind you, are rather expensive. At most, I estimate that we have enough funds to keep this facility running for another year or two. Three, if we are very frugal with resources on hand. We need to be able to produce something to pay for the upkeep of this island. Something that could be sold back to Wizarding Britain,"

"Well then, you're in your element, aren't you?" joked Phineas, who quailed when his wife gave him an icy glare. "I'm being serious, for once. You were our team leader back in that research facility. You've done this before,"

"Perhaps. But nothing of this scale. I have plans, thoughts and ideas, and yet no concrete ones to bring to reality yet. Which means that I have little to bargain with for more funds," murmured Amanda. In a rare moment of weakness, she buried her face into Phineas' shoulder. "When I see...all this...I cannot help but wonder if I did not promise more than I could ever deliver. Tell me, Phineas. Do you really believe that we can succeed?"

For a moment, he was silent. _Would he say no?_ Amanda thought to herself. A little tendril of fear crept into her heart. What would failure mean to her? What would failure mean to him? What would failure mean to those that they recruited? And more importantly, what would failure mean for Cordelia?

She felt Phineas move away from her and brush a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. "Yes," Phineas replied. Quietly. And then with more conviction, he repeated himself. "Yes. I believe that you can succeed. That we can all succeed. That this Institute that you are building would succeed,"

"Truly? What makes you believe that so strongly?"

"I don't know. I'm not a seer, I wasn't gifted with The Sight. But what I do know is that what we've started, we can't go back on. We have to keep going. You wanted to bring the Wizarding World to the twentieth century, and now you have the chance. You have over a hundred people who believe in what you are trying to bring about, and are here to work for you. We still have Cordelia to look after. We can't fail. Not here,"

* * *

A/N:

Amanda finally realises just how daunting the task before her is. Let's see how Maeve reacts to Amanda showing a moment of weakness, even if it is but for a moment... *dodges a flying sword-in-a-stone*

LordMesirix: Sooner than you think. And it has much, _much_ worse ramifications than what any of the students (or many adults) think.

Dragon Man 180: Hermione is blind to the faults of authority, and books are always filled with gospel truth. It's the way she always is :P And compulsion charms in a smile? Totally believable. After all, remember; Witch Weekly's Most _**ENCHANTING**_ Smile *shot* Okay, bad pun, bad pun.

SenHajime: You'll have to see, won't you? And if she shows up when a bunch of students are petrified in the hospital wing, well...that totally doesn't reflect well on Hogwarts at all. Also, if students discover how Cordelia was made/conceived (I'm more partial to 'made', as she was engineered rather than naturally conceived), the issues would be very, very numerous. I plan to tackle that can of worms in later chapters.


	24. 24 - The Yule Invitation

It was not every day that Albus received an angry letter from a parent. In fact, he could consider it a rarity that there was an angry letter directed to him at all, given his status as the leader of the Light faction in the Wizengamot. Being the man who had fought off Voldemort numerous times during the First Wizarding War only strengthened his position, making it nearly unheard of that anybody would even dare raise a complaint against him. He was, simply put, the Light of the Wizarding World.

Yet on his desk sat a letter from one Amanda Flynn. Though formal, he could not help but notice the rather stern hand that it was written in. Or the content, which accused one of his staff members for being neglectful. Neglectful! As...eccentric as Gilderoy was, the man was a stellar role model. Even if he was perhaps not the most capable of wizards, he was capable of inspiring a great number of people with words and a certain flair for theatrics. Inspiration in itself was an art, and one that was sorely missing in most teachers.

If that had not been bad enough, the woman had then demanded to meet him in his office. Claiming that as her child has suffered an injury that may possibly be dangerous while in the care of one of _his_ professors, _he_ was responsible for what had happened. How was he supposed to keep an eye on every single student, at every given moment? It was simply an impossibility. Besides, with Poppy in charge of the hospital wing and Severus supplying potions, he had every confidence that whatever harm the students could get into could be healed without problems.

Still, she had him in a quandary. She invoked the old Hogwarts Charter, which specified that every student studying in Hogwarts was under his legal care, and that the parents of sufficiently significant status could demand to have their grievances heard in person if something serious had happened to their child. Such as, in this case, a head injury caused by a falling chandelier. He had been relieved to hear from Madam Pomfrey that both the young Miss Flynn and Miss Greengrass had escaped the falling chandelier with mostly superficial damage.

Miss Greengrass from being pushed out of the chandelier's way by Miss Flynn, and Miss Flynn from being hit by the chandelier on the crown of her head. Somehow, Miss Flynn had gotten away with only a gash and minor dizziness despite being hit by a seventy-pound iron chandelier. By all rights, she should have been knocked unconscious at least; but her resilience he could chalk up to some sort of accidental magic. Perhaps even deliberate and wandless, considering that something of the like had happened last year as well. She did kill a fully-grown mountain troll in her first year, after all, and survived a direct hit from its club.

Regardless of how it was done, the girl had lived without any permanent injuries. Why couldn't her mother just learn to let it be? Surely forgiveness was a right that everyone was entitled to? Especially a man who had not intended harm in the first place?

He looked at the clock. It was almost five in the afternoon, and Miss Flynn (the parent) would soon be arriving in his office to discuss Miss Flynn (the student). Right as the minute hand of the clock pointed to twelve, his fireplace flared up with towering green flames. Out of it walked a tall red-haired woman, dressed in a crisp, form-fitting Muggle suit. She had a hawk-like gaze and surveyed her surroundings carefully as she dusted off her suit, her green eyes scrutinising every last detail of his office.

To his surprise, the fireplace flared once again. This time, a man stepped through. Her husband, Albus presumed. The wizard of the couple, if his traditional black wizarding robes were any indication. Still, he found it rather strange that the man's skin _shimmered_ ever so slightly under the enchanted candlelight of his office. Clear evidence of a glamour masking his appearance, but the wards hadn't stripped him of them yet. A glamour that was not cast with the intent to deceive someone with the intent to harm, he assumed, which was why the intent-based wards hadn't removed them. Perhaps the man had irreversible skin damage?

"Ah. Welcome to Hogwarts, Amanda. Please, have a seat," Albus spoke, waving his hand and conjuring two plush armchairs in front of his desk.

Seconds ticked by, and there was no response from the woman. Other than a cold, calculating gaze, fixed on his own, that was.

"I assure you that there are no curses placed on the seats. Please, have a seat,"

"Your words are noted, Headmaster Dumbledore. As is your insult for failing to address my wife by her proper title," the man spoke coolly. "We have not given you leave to address us in the familiar as yet,"

Ah, purebloods who adhered to the ancient conventions regarding socialisation, Albus thought to himself. But who were they? He had held the title of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot for some time, but he could not remember their faces from any of the court sessions. Nor did the name of Flynn ring a bell in his mind regarding which seat they held. Were they perhaps of a new House that had just been revived? Or were they a foreign House, that had just arrived?

"I apologise for my mistake," he said, "Could I then know how you should like to be addressed?"

"You may call myself Lord Eire, and my wife Lady Eire. Of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Eire,"

A Most Ancient and Noble House? Eire? He couldn't recall a seat on the Wizengamot that was held by Eire. Perhaps this was a newly-reactivated House? It did not happen often, but it was entirely possible that a distant relative of a House that was thought extinct acquired the Lord- or Ladyship of a House. Ordinarily, he would question them more, but the Sneakoscope in his drawers remained silent. And Lady Eire had her signet ring clearly visible on her hand.

Which could only mean one thing. House Eire had somehow arisen from obscurity, and it was a Most Ancient and Noble House, with a Lord and a Lady - and a Heiress. A house with unknown allegiances, regarding the Light and the Dark. A Most Ancient and Noble House was extremely rare, and they wielded significant power through their permanent seats in the Wizengamot. Given the sheer prevalence of powerful Dark-aligned Houses in the Wizengamot, an unaligned one could be a great hazard to his plans if it shifted to favour the Dark.

Or it could be a great benefit if it could be shifted to favour his Light side.

There was also another ring on her pinky finger; one that had what resembled Nordic runes engraved into its golden surface, and glowed slightly with power. What it was, he did not know, but it would be most ungracious to question her about it at that very moment.

"Very well, then. Lord and Lady Eire, please, have a seat," he said, filing his thoughts away for further consideration at a later date. It was poor form to keep someone waiting, especially the heads of a House.

Only then did both of the visitors sit down, though neither relaxed in the least bit. He gave them what he believed was a friendly, reassuring smile. One which was not returned.

"Now that we are seated, may I know what you would like to speak about?"

"You are very well aware of what we have to speak about, Headmaster Dumbledore," Amanda spoke haughtily. "Do not try my patience. As it stands, I see little reason why I should not withdraw my daughter from this hazardous edifice you call a school,"

"Of course, of course. You are here to discuss a certain matter involving your daughter and...ah, a minor accident in Defence Against the Dark Arts,"

The woman's lips quirked downwards a nearly imperceptible amount, though her eyes hardened to chips of green ice.

"If a head injury is what you would call minor, Headmaster Dumbledore," she spoke, the barest hint of disdain in her voice, "Then I should be very concerned indeed about the state of safety in your school. Or lack thereof,"

"Poppy Pomfrey is a most capable Medi-witch, I assure you. Your daughter was never in serious danger,"

A small untruth. A seventy-pound iron chandelier falling on a student's head should have killed her. It was either a miracle of magic or a massive stroke of luck that young Miss Flynn had survived at all. But she did survive, and that was all that mattered.

Wasn't it?

"I care little whether or not your medical staff are competent!" thundered Amanda, "That my daughter was in danger _at all_ speaks volumes of your attention to your students' well-being! And do not even begin to excuse your school's safety record. I am well aware that my daughter had been forced to kill a creature that you call a mountain troll, in order to defend herself and the life of one of her friends,"

"A regrettable incident," he said, bowing his head a little to placate the woman. A little loss of pride, perhaps, but one that was not public. He could live with this, if he got to understand more about how this woman thought.

"Indeed. One that should not have happened in the first place. She was fortunate to be still alive. I had half a mind to withdraw her from Hogwarts there and then, to place her under private tutelage. Or perhaps to move her to another school altogether. I have heard from my husband that Beauxbatons is filled with most competent staff that would be most happy to take my daughter – and my gold - under their wing,"

"Now, let's not be hasty. There should be no need for that," Dumbledore said quickly. The school's finances weren't as strong as they should be, and the change to subsidise Muggleborns and poorer families' tuition fees had hit their bottom line hard. If it were not for the cash that he had appropriated from the Potter main vaults as Harry's magical guardian, he would have had to slash his wages and his staff's wages significantly. The last thing that he needed was a full-fee-paying student to move away from Hogwarts. "The troll incident, as regrettable as it was, remains in the past. We have since banned dangerous creatures from being brought into the castle. There will be no repeats of that incident,"

"That is still insufficient, as there are numerous other incidents which cast you in severe doubt as to whether you are truly treating these students' safety with due care!" said Amanda heatedly. She reached into a pocket on her suit and slammed a set of photographs on the table.

A Muggle photograph, as Dumbledore noted. Of some boots that looked well and truly shredded by some sort of very hard impact. And the next was a magical photograph of the Hogwarts broom rack, with a shattered broomstick in the foreground. It was broken in the centre, and its wood was graying and obviously weathered by age and wear. The others didn't look that much better, either, though at least they were still in one piece.

"These were my daughter's boots, which she had sent back to me after her first...flying lesson," she hissed, "That broomstick was the one that she had been using on that particular lesson. Do you see the lack of safety, Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"I believe I see a broken broomstick, and...a destroyed pair of boots?"

"That you do. Are you aware of how this had happened?" she said, "My daughter was riding on that particular broom. And it had broken fifty feet in the air, causing her to fall straight to the ground. Had the ground not been as soft as it were, she would have likely died to the fall. Boots? I could purchase another pair. Her life, I could not replace,"

"I think I understand your point, now," Dumbledore said, forcing kindness into his tone and a smile onto his face. This fiery woman in front of him truly did not let up on her verbal assault. "I sincerely apologise for what has happened in the past. Is it not better to forget and forgive what has happened before, and move on to the future?"

"On the second part, I could agree with you. On the first part?" she said, narrowing her eyes. "No. Never. What is to say that you are to simply forget about past mistakes, and repeat it again?"

"Very well, then. You have made your point. I shall see to it that my students are safer than before," he sighed exhaustedly. For a moment, he thought that there was a brief flash of triumph in the woman's eyes, but it was gone as soon as it had come. "Is there anything else?"

"No," she said curtly, standing up and walking towards the Floo. "I wish I could say good afternoon, but this meeting has certainly proven that false. Let us hope that the next time will be under better circumstances, Headmaster Dumbledore. Come, Phineas, let us return,"

The man was at least a little warmer than his wife, offering a handshake and a small nod as a farewell.

"The Institute!" Amanda declared, tossing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and vanishing in a roar of green flames. Her husband did the same, and likewise vanished.

 _The Institute?_ thought Albus curiously. That definitely did not sound like a home address. Where were Lord and Lady Eire coming from exactly? Or rather, where did they just go? That was a mystery that piqued his interest.

He stood up and stretched his back, his mind now on another matter. The appearance of a new Most Ancient and Noble House with no allegiance or known history was a disturbing thought. He frowned as he recalled parts of his conversation. Lady Eire seemed to be a pureblood traditionalist; a position that typically aligned well with the Dark. Yet her daughter was a Gryffindor. One that seemed to be rather close to Harry, it seemed. Perhaps he could convince her to take up his point of view over time.

Yes, that could work. He could subtly nudge the two closer together. Perhaps he needed to spend some time evaluating how to go about this task.

* * *

Back in Avalon – or The Institute, as Amanda dubbed the sprawling facility – Amanda stumbled awkwardly out of her personal apartment's fireplace. Of all the magical transportation methods that she had experienced so far, she felt the Floo had to be one of the absolute worst ways to travel. Speak the destination's name incorrectly, and you ended up at the wrong place. Come too closely behind someone, and you could run straight into them. And even if you did come out at the right place _and_ not collide with someone else, you were still covered in the ash and soot of _actual_ fire that had burned there before.

Close behind her came Phineas, wearing a grin from ear to ear.

"Well, I think that got the point across," Phineas chuckled merrily, "I don't think I've ever seen him sweat like that in years! And I was in school with him,"

Amanda looked at him strangely. "With him?" she repeated.

"Oh, I mean—with him as Headmaster of course," coughed Phineas. Amanda narrowed her eyes, fairly sure that he was hiding something.

 _Yes, thine husband is definitely hiding something from thee._

"Maeve, I would really like full control of my mind again, thank you very much," she called out, seemingly to nobody. The ring on her finger glowed white for a brief moment, before a glowing mist seeped out of the runes carved into it. The mist grew thicker and thicker, forming the shape of a woman – her flowing robes and all – and then finally materialising into the familiar shape of the resident ghost of Avalon.

"Dost thou not appreciate mine company?" she asked, frowning.

"As informative as you were, it was rather...disconcerting," Amanda muttered, massaging the side of her head. A small trickle of blood dripped from her nostrils, which she quickly wiped with a handkerchief. "Having two separate lines of thought was a very strange experience, and I doubt that I could get used to it,"

"A pity. Thy mind has proven to be more capable than I hath expected," Maeve said.

"Are you saying that I am stupid?"

"Not at all, descendant of mine. I meant no insult. Thine mind, while it pales to my own while I was still hale and healthy," she replied with a playful smirk, "It doth contain much intriguing knowledge. Knowledge of things that hath never been possible in mine own time. Knowledge that I have not fully read into, need I add; and knowledge that I hunger to read more of,"

Amanda blinked owlishly. "So you were in my head...and reading my thoughts?"

"A fair trade, is it not?" Maeve replied, tilting her head. "After all, thou were reading mine own while I was offering advice as to how to deal with that old, miserable snake,"

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold on," Phineas said, holding up both his hands. "Are you saying that...what my wife said to Dumbledore...you were feeding lines into her head?"

"That would be more or less correct. Though I had to change the words to...more modern standards," Amanda muttered, blushing slightly at having her secret discovered, "I know that Victoria had lent me that book on proper Purebl—sorry, _noble wizard_ etiquette, but I find myself irritated with having to deal with that...old coot. How dare he put Cordelia at risk so carelessly?"

"Indeed. Thine wrath was quite...refreshing," Maeve commented with a devilish smirk, "Still, that will not do. Thou shalt continue thine studies on proper manners. It will only serve thee well in the future,"

"It seems so pointless,"

Maeve's smirk widened. "If thou believ'st that is so, descendant mine, then I shall be happy to motivate thee out of thine slothfulness. After all, this island is still mine own, by right of magic, until I bequeath to thee mine rightful titles, and I assure thee that I do not suffer fools and sloths lightly. Otherwise, I do believe that the right to read into thine knowledge of these...modern arts...should be sufficient recompense for guidance,"

Amanda shot her ancestor's ghost a withering glare. "Slave driver," she muttered under her breath.

* * *

It seemed that even after her mother's angry visit to Dumbledore, the safety of students in Hogwarts remained at an abysmal level. Cordelia found herself limping back to the hospital wing for the fifth time in just over a month, supported by a completely bemused Hermione. This time, the entire left side of her body had been covered in angry yellow boils, and most of her robes were in singed tatters. Her left leg was swollen and inflamed, to the point where it resembled a balloon stuck to her rather than a proper limb.

"I really don't understand," Hermione said, "You weren't even _near_ the Bubotuber plants on the other side of the greenhouse from the Dittany pots. How did you manage to get sprayed by six of them at the same time, from behind? I mean, it's not even like there are any Slytherins to prank you this time. You were in an extra class with Professor Sprout again, alone!"

"Plants are evil," whined Cordelia, wincing when one of the boils on her arm popped and oozed pus onto the floor. "And I'm hopeless with Herbology. Why can't I just drop the subject?"

"They're not evil, and you're not hopeless at it. You just need more practice with Professor Sprout, I think. Anyway, we've arrived at the hospital wing,"

"I'll take her from here, Miss Granger. Stay there, you'll have to escort her back to the Gryffindor tower," Madam Pomfrey said, clicking her tongue disapprovingly as she checked on Cordelia. "Miss Flynn, at this rate, I might have to get you a permanent bed in the hospital wing. Twice in one week, in the Herbology greenhouses? How did you manage to be sprayed by undiluted Bubotuber pus when only fourth years and above were supposed to handle them, if I may ask?"

"Plants are evil," Cordelia repeated, groaning as Madam Pomfrey eased her into a waiting bed and drew some privacy curtains around it.

"Nonsense. I shall have to speak with Professor Sprout about how this could have happened. Now, take off your robes and lie still. I can't treat these boils with that still in the way,"

It took nearly half an hour for every boil to be vanished from her body. Half an hour of painful poking, prodding and odd sounds of popping as Madam Pomfrey cast some spell or another to burst the boils and then mend the broken skin left behind. Every so often, she would feel the cool touch of a lotion when a boil proved too stubborn to remove. Eventually, after the healer removed one last boil on her knee, Madam Pomfrey declared her healthy.

"You're fine. Now, you can't possibly walk around in those tatters," she indicated the scraps of Cordelia's robes, which lay on the floor beside the bed, "So you may wear a spare robe of your size until you can make your way back to the dormitories. Here,"

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey,"

"No problem. Stay safe next time,"

Staying safe. That seemed easier said than done. There were rumours that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin – whatever that meant. All that Cordelia knew was that during Halloween, Harry, Ron and Hermione had decided to go to something called a Deathday Party with Nearly Headless Nick, and on the way back, they had encountered Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris.

Which would have been unfortunate enough on most days. But what made this one worse was that the cat was _petrified_. With an ominous message written in glimmering red ink.

 _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware._

Given her track record of getting frequently injured in ludicrous ways involving plants – or a specific incompetent professor – it took Cordelia a truly Herculean effort to convince her mother to not march into Hogwarts and take her straight back to Avalon. In hindsight, writing to her mother about the petrified cat was probably a terrible idea; but the news would have made it to her one way or another anyway, seeing as she wasn't as disconnected from the magical world as she used to be. She and her father were usually visiting Gringotts at least twice a week these days, and she was definitely sure that one of the Wizarding newspapers would have an article on the rising fear of the unknown attacker in Hogwarts.

It didn't help either that a few Muggleborns have already been petrified. Colin Creevey was the first, found petrified while holding a camera. Justin Finch-Fletchley was the next one - along with Nearly Headless Nick, oddly enough. Who would have thought that a ghost could be petrified? Nonetheless, the Muggleborn students in the school were alert and twitchy, refusing to wander anywhere without being in a group of two or more. They truly believed that whoever was petrifying students was actively targeting Muggleborns.

It also didn't help that whoever this attacker was, he had styled himself the Heir of Slytherin. Written in what looked like blood over the site of the first attack, and repeated on the site of every attack after. It was enough to make the whole school nervous – minus one particular House, who seemed truly convinced that they were not going to be harmed.

"Are you alright now, Cordelia?" Hermione asked. The red-haired girl nodded silently in response, collecting her satchel bag from Hermione's hands. "Okay. Well, we'd better get to the Gryffindor tower as soon as we can,"

"Yep. I really want to get changed. These robes are really itchy!" she complained, quickening her step.

They passed by Malfoy on the way to the grand staircase. He and his two goons were standing with crossed arms at the top of the entrance hall's staircase. Something had them smirking with glee. "Oh, look here! If it isn't the Mudblood and the other Mudblood!" he sneered, "In the hospital again? A shame you weren't _petrified,_ like that other Mudblood, Creevey. Now that would be a-"

Cordelia balled her fists. This was getting to be a daily occurrence; Slytherins waiting at the top of the main staircase to harass passing Muggleborn witches and wizards with taunts and pranks. Or if no teachers were around, hexes and jinxes. Her mother had told her to not reveal her status as the heiress of a Most Ancient and Noble House yet, as it would raise questions about the status of their ancestral lands – and more than likely unwanted attention to their ambitions. Yet it was tempting – oh so tempting – to declare how wrong these Slytherins were. To put them in their place; which was to say, in the hospital wing.

Her emotions must have been showing, because Hermione gently squeezed her hand and whispered, "Let it go, Cordelia. They're not worth a fight,"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, counting to five before pushing past the three boys. Already taller than Hermione with a far longer stride, she quickened her walk until the other girl had to jog to keep up. Once out of earshot, Cordelia muttered bitterly, "I hate them,"

"I know. And I can't say that I like them either. But if you throw the first punch, they'll go to Professor Snape and...well, you'll get into more trouble,"

"More trouble, Hermione?" she chuckled darkly, "I've got a detention two days a week with Sprout until the end of the year-"

"Remedial lessons with Professor Sprout, two days a week until the end of the year," Hermione corrected her, "And that's only for another two weeks, Cordelia. It's not like you're getting twenty detentions in a row,"

"Yeah, well..."

"You could be expelled if you went too far,"

"What is this I hear about Cordelia being expelled?"

Cordelia whipped around at that voice. "Daphne!" she exclaimed. For a moment, the only thing she wanted to do was to throw a hug around her friend – just to annoy her that little bit, as always – but their circumstances gave her pause.

This was eight thirty in the evening. Nearly time for curfew. And even without curfew, it was terribly dangerous to be wandering alone in the castle. The petrifications were still fresh in everyone's minds, and the perpetrator still hadn't been caught yet. Even more strange was that Daphne was here, out in the open. On the staircase landing on the second floor. A Slytherin, meeting with a pair of Gryffindors.

"Daphne? What are you doing here? It's not safe to be walking around...you know, alone,"

"I think I will take my chances. Every attack thus far has been on a Muggleborn student. And as you are well aware, I am the Heiress of a Most Ancient and Noble House, and most definitely _not_ a Muggleborn,"

"I suppose that's one way " Hermione said, sharing a look with Cordelia. "But what if it's just a coincidence? Shouldn't you at least come with someone else?"

"As I have said, I think I will take my chances. I have a message to give to Potter, but his...ah...very eloquent personal bodyguard prevented me from delivering my message. I believe that his exact words were, 'Don't trust that slimy snake, Harry, she's probably trying to hex you with that letter,'"

"Ron can be so thickheaded sometimes," sighed Cordelia. A questioning look from Daphne, and she conceded, "Okay. Most of the time,"

"That is much more accurate. In any case-" Daphne waved her hand, "-This is not something that should be spoken of in the open. Let us take this discussion to a more...private setting, shall we? The girls' bathroom on the second floor is never occupied,"

That particular bathroom had a sign on it saying that it was out of order, but every girl in the school knew otherwise. It wasn't out of order; the plumbing was working just fine. Rather, it was the presence of a certain unwelcome ghost in the bathroom that made it somewhat off-putting to use.

"Good, it doesn't look like Myrtle's here," Cordelia whispered, hoping that the ghost wasn't hiding in a cubicle, "I was using the loo when she popped up through the plumbing once. It was...awkward,"

"Quite," groaned Daphne, "Thank you for that unnecessary image, Cordelia. Hermione, could you lock the door, please?"

A squelching noise later and a quick tug on the handle let the three know that the deed was done. "Thank you. Now, I have heard that you have been searching for hints about the Heir of Slytherin. Particularly among the Slytherins. Were you thinking of sneaking into our common room? Under a disguise, perhaps?"

Hermione choked and sputtered out, "How did you know?"

"I did not know for sure," replied Daphne, smirking knowingly at Hermione, "But thank you for confirming the rumours, all the same. I assume that you are also the one that is about to start brewing Polyjuice Potion, Hermione? A single dose? Professor Snape was rather furious when he discovered some rather costly ingredients had been pilfered from his cupboards. Now I know where they have gone,"

Cordelia was utterly confused. "Polyjuice Potion? What is that? It certainly isn't in our prescribed Potions textbook, and I've read the whole thing already,"

"It is a potion that would allow someone to assume the appearance of another person," Daphne replied icily, still glaring at Hermione. "Extremely difficult to brew, and with very severe consequences for the drinker if brewed or used incorrectly. Not to mention that if someone were caught with it in their possession without being an Auror, it is a one-way ticket to Azkaban,"

Judging by the horrified expression on the bookish girl's quickly paling face, she _did_ know about the potion. And was likely already brewing it. "H-Hermione?" Cordelia stammered, "Is this true?"

"Cordelia," Daphne sighed disappointedly, "You have a brain that is brighter than most of the other simpletons in Gryffindor. Use it. Would she be so fearful if I were accusing her of something untrue?"

She had to admit that Daphne had a point. Why would anyone be scared if they didn't actually do something that needed to be hidden?

"Yes," Hermione squeaked out. She was so quiet that they almost couldn't hear her. "Yes. I...It is," Taking a deep breath, Hermione continued, "I—we just wanted to find the Heir of Slytherin and stop him. So far, it's been only Muggleborns that have been attacked, but only petrified. What if it gets worse? Ron and Harry both thought that—that the Heir was in Slytherin,"

"And you did not think about contacting myself first about it?" asked Daphne incredulously. "Has the fabled Gryffindor thick-headedness gotten to your mind?"

"No! That's not—I—we just wanted to see for ourselves. We thought that maybe Malfoy knew something. Or maybe that _he_ was the Heir,"

"That wouldn't surprise me," commented Cordelia, a shade of anger creeping into her voice as she recalled the numerous little insults that the blond ponce had thrown about. "Stupid pureblood bigot,"

"Did it not occur to you that I, a friend of both yourself and Cordelia, am a Slytherin?" Daphne hissed, "Did you not even consider that you could have simply asked me if any of your suspicions were true? That you did not need to attempt to disguise yourself to enter the Slytherin dungeons to confirm your thoughts?"

"No," Hermione said meekly.

"Then you know now to think before you act, do you not? What would happen if the potion's effect were to run out, and you were still inside the Slytherin common room? What would happen if you were caught with it in your possession?"

Her gaze softened, and she took in a deep breath. "If you must know, no, Malfoy is not the Heir. He _wishes_ he were; this is something that all Slytherins know. And as to who it is, I do not think that the Heir is actually in Slytherin. Every night, the rumours and the speculations run wild, but no Slytherin has confessed to being the heir. And it drives many of my housemates mad that Potter is supposedly the Heir. Believe me, we have tried to uncover the Heir's identity. Many, many times,"

"So if that's true—that the Heir isn't in Slytherin then...who could it be?"

"I have no idea at this time. However, searching for his identity is not exactly one of my top priorities, Hermione. But I do suggest that you cease and desist from making that potion. Getting caught with it in your possession would not be a good thing. Oh, and one more thing. Cordelia," said Daphne, reaching into her robes and pulling out a letter in some heavy parchment, "My father, Lord Greengrass, wishes to know if you would like to join us for the Yule holiday break at Greengrass Estate,"

Recalling the happy memories that she had of Avalon Castle, Cordelia's face lit up with happiness and nodded eagerly. Greengrass Estate was probably not a ruin, like Avalon was when they settled into it, and was likely in a much better condition. "Of course! What about mum? Is she coming as well?" she asked excitedly.

"Of course. Lady Eire is also invited, as you are," Daphne replied.

"Lord? Lady? Heiress?" Hermione asked curiously, "What are you two talking about?"

Daphne, mildly insulted by her ignorance, turned up her nose and started to walk towards the bathroom exit. "I would suggest that you learn about pureblood etiquette and customs, Granger, before you insult someone else unwittingly," she spoke haughtily. "Alohomora! Now, good evening to you both. It is almost curfew; you two had best head back to your rooms,"

An awkward silence settled on the room once Daphne had left. Cordelia looked to Hermione, who wore an expectant expression on her face. "Well?" she practically demanded.

"This...uh...you're not going to let this drop, are you?" Cordelia muttered, rubbing the back of her head.

* * *

A/N:

-offers a book to the muses- They've been good to me this week :D Words flowing out without many problems.

Dumbledore, you aren't a matchmaker. Get the hell out. That also means get your filthy talons out of The Institute. No mooching supplies from another vault!

SenHajime/LordMesirix: Yep, Amanda's only human. Have you heard of the concept that a leader must always show strength in public, whether they are right or wrong? It's because if they show it publicly, it undermines their authority. Quite severely so, if you're trying to convince other people that what you're doing is the right thing to do, and it is something worth doing. Which is what Amanda was doing for some time while designing and creating Cordelia from her genetic material, and even as she was raising Cordelia.

Doing this for an extended period of time, however, isn't healthy. With nowhere to vent frustrations, fears and concerns, it can be quite destructive once it all comes out. In this way, I hope to show that Amanda is slowly becoming more trusting of Phineas, that she can be who she is around him - and not have to be that hard-assed, rigid leader figure all the time.


	25. 25 - The Meadows

The rest of the school term dragged by, a Slytherin-plagued day at a time. Between remedial lessons, actual lessons and the piles of homework that the teachers saw fit to dump on them right before the holidays, Cordelia found her patience getting worn extremely thin. It was fortunate that she had Hermione to help her along with essays and research. If it were not for the brunette's uncanny ability to find information almost instantly in the sea of books that was the Hogwarts library, she was certain that she would have snapped from overwork. That, or snapping from the horrendous words that the Slytherins hissed into every Muggleborn's ears wherever they went.

Eventually, the week before Christmas came. On Monday morning, when they would finally leave Hogwarts for the holidays, Cordelia found herself in a very good mood. Fully dressed in thick winter robes, a warm red-and-gold scarf wrapped around her neck, she felt none of the usual wintry chill that had seeped into every corner of the castle. Rather, she still felt warm, clean and content, courtesy of a long soak in the bathroom. It was a luxury that she normally couldn't afford with early morning classes, and one that she dearly hoped she could have at least once a week in later years.

Sure, the other girls had complained that she was hogging the shower when they finally started trickling into the bathroom. But it wasn't like Hogwarts would ever run short of hot water with heating charms on the plumbing, unlike her own house back in Privet Drive which still relied on a ratty old hot water tank.

Her trunk had disappeared from its usual spot after she had returned. Huginn's cage had likewise disappeared along with the bird. The only thing left behind was a flat, small package that sat on her bedside table, wrapped in gleaming emerald green. Picking it up and feeling it, she realised it could only be a book of some sort. There was a label taped to the other side, written in neat cursive that she recognised as Hermione's.

 _Dear Cordelia,_

 _I meant to give this to you for Christmas, but because you won't be in Hogwarts by then. I suppose the next best thing is to give it to you before you go. It's a diary with memory-enhancing enchantments on it, so that you can't forget any future plans that you've written into it unless you erased it._

 _Stay safe, and say hello to Daphne for me._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione._

A pang of guilt came over Cordelia's mind as she realised that Hermione had gotten her something for Christmas, and she had completely forgotten about it. But that was quickly drowned by an immense wave of delight towards said girl. She could not recall the last time that she had been given a gift by anyone for Christmas other than her mother and father. A friend giving her a gift? That was something completely new to her – and totally not unwelcome.

She set down her present back onto her bed. At that moment Hermione walked into the dormitory, her hair damp from a shower. Fortunately for her, she had been wearing a thick fluffy bathrobe instead of simply wrapping a towel around herself, for a red-headed missile launched herself at the bookworm, clinging to her tightly with joy and very nearly tackling her to the ground.

"Thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou~!" she squealed, smiling from ear to ear..

Hermione would have struggled to try and get herself free, if she could have moved at all in the first place. "Cordelia – get off me - I can't – breathe,"

"Oops. Sorry," gasped Cordelia. She immediately let Hermione go. "Are you alright?"

"Well, other than the likely bruise that I'll get from your tackle, yes," she grumbled, smoothing off her bathrobe and making sure nothing had fallen loose. "What's gotten into you, Cordelia?"

"Your gift!" Cordelia said happily, though her smile faded somewhat when Hermione still looked nonplussed. "It was on my bedside table. It was your gift, right?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow - and then her eyes widened as she realised what had likely happened. She had wrapped it in something shiny, and that was a first-class violation of the Gryffindor second-year girls' dormitory rules.

Nobody left _anything_ shiny in the open whenever Huginn was out of her cage, unless they wanted those shiny things taken straight to the raven's cage. And that raven had been mooching crumbs off everyone since the unofficial end-of-year party last night.

"Oh. Oh. Well, there goes my surprise," she huffed ruefully, "I meant to give it to you after breakfast,"

"Even if it wasn't a surprise, I still love it, Hermione," Cordelia said appreciatively to the bushy-haired girl. "I feel like a terrible friend for not remembering to get you anything, though. I'll get you something on the way back,"

"Oh, you don't have to. Really," Hermione replied, though her shining eyes spoke otherwise.

"You're terrible at pretending, Hermione," giggled Cordelia. "No, really, fair's fair. I'll get you something that you'll love. Textbooks!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Cordelia? Textbooks?"

"Just kidding, Hermione, really. Say, there's still some time left before we have to leave for Hogsmeade station. Would you like to come with me for a walk? You said you wanted to hear about...you know...that. Well, my mum wrote to me last night that it would be okay to tell you about it. Well, some of it,"

Hermione nearly jumped at the chance. Ever since that evening when Daphne had inadvertently let slip that Cordelia was a Heiress of a Most Ancient and Noble House, Hermione had spent quite a bit of spare time researching what exactly was a Most Ancient and Noble House. And that meant that more often than not, one could find her slaving away in the library, a mountain of books at her side.

"You have to tell me!" demanded Hermione, yanking Cordelia towards her so that their noses were touching. "I looked _everywhere_ , and I literally couldn't find _anything_ on the subject,"

"Looked?" Cordelia asked in disbelief, "You didn't need to _look_ anywhere, Hermione?"

"Of course I do. Everything is written down," Hermione said slowly. When Cordelia clapped a hand to her face and groaned, she added uncertainly, "It has to be. Everything must be written down,"

"Hermione, have you ever thought about talking to Daphne about it? Or even Ron? Or Percy? Or even Fred and George?"

Gryffindor's resident bookworm opened her mouth and closed it again. Unable to come up with another answer, she huffed and ground out a sulking "No, I haven't,"

"Well, they could've just told you, and you wouldn't have needed to go and try and find books on the subject at all. Apparently, according to Daphne, every Pureblood child is taught their history by their parents. It's never really written down," Cordelia sighed. "Come on, I'll tell you more about it on the way down to the Great Hall,"

By the time that Cordelia reached the first floor, Hermione looked very pensive. Cordelia hadn't been allowed to tell her anything at all about Avalon yet, but at least she could tell Hermione about the fact that she and her mother were apparently descended from a very old Wizarding line that had been driven nearly extinct by a blood curse that affected all their newborn children. The Muggleborn girl had been horrified to think that a curse that stripped magic from children even existed. She had skipped over the part of how she had avoided being born a Squib by simply saying that she had been born under 'special circumstances' – an answer that thankfully Hermione did not pry further into.

"That's horrible," Hermione muttered, "I can't believe someone would put a curse like...that...on someone,"

"I know. It's really horrible," agreed Cordelia.

"Still, I know there's more to it, isn't there?" Hermione said. When Cordelia nodded, she pushed further. "Could you tell me more? Daphne said that she was inviting you and your mum to Greengrass Estate. What's it like, living in a magical home? You have one now, don't you? I mean, you're also in a Noble and Most Ancient House. I read in _Witches Weekly_ that every one of them has-"

"Wow, Hermione, slow down. Daphne didn't invite me or my mum. It was her father that did. About magical homes, though, I can't say that I've actually lived in one," Cordelia replied. She grimaced as she thought back to her days in the ruins of Avalon Castle. It certainly didn't _feel_ like a home as much as it was some kind of ancient ruin that they were camping in. "I mean, we do have an estate, but it really didn't look like much at first. You can imagine how dirty it was after several hundred years of nobody living there!"

Hermione blanched at the unpleasant image. "That sounds rather disgusting. Is someone taking care of the house now?"

"In a way, yep. I think my mum was getting it fixed up. Ooh, there's Daphne, and everyone else that's going home. I probably should join them,"

Cordelia pulled in Hermione for another tight hug, leaving the smaller girl winded. "I'll see you when we get back to Hogwarts, Hermione! Don't study too hard, alright? It's the holidays, after all,"

* * *

The journey back to Platform Nine and Three Quarters was filled with much laughter and cheer. Well, except for Daphne, whose icy personality seemingly refused to melt, even when Tracey and Cordelia swapped jokes and played with a certain happy (and now rather fat) pet raven that sat on their table. Only the slightest quirk of her lips betrayed her happiness, and this didn't escape either of her two friends.

Though Cordelia hadn't met Tracey in person before, she was surprised that the Slytherin girl claimed that she had met Cordelia many times before. Seeing the confusion painted clearly on Cordelia's face, Tracey smirked and poked at a brooch of a four-coloured flower on her uniform's breast. Her robe's colour trims shifted to red and gold; the very same as Cordelia's own. She then took out a box of make-up from a pocket in her robes and held up a few brushes and pots of things that Cordelia hadn't even heard of before. Within a few minutes of her dabbing, brushing and dusting things onto her face, Cordelia was surprised to see that her face had completely changed.

From a plain-faced brown-haired Slytherin, to a girl that looked uncannily like Ginny Weasley with brown hair. Skin looking the exact same shade, and darker spots to alter the apparent shape of her jaw. She had even taken care to drop freckles in just the right amount to make it convincing! It was only her eyes and hair that gave her away, and the fact that Ginny never sat with her legs crossed demurely with a coy smile on her face.

"Wow. I...just...wow, I can't believe what I just saw," Cordelia stammered, gawking at a giggling Ginny-Tracey. "That was amazing. And that was without magic?"

"Yup," Tracey replied cheerfully, popping the 'p'. Taking out a thick woolly cloth from the box, she wiped her face once and it returned to its original, rather plain state. "Well, mostly. That was a Colour-Changing Charm for my clothes. It doesn't get past the professors, but you'd be surprised at how much friendlier people are when you're not dressed in silver and green! I mean, I could actually talk to the Weasley Twins without any other Gryffindor hexing me,"

"And once they found out?" Daphne asked.

Tracey burst into loud laughter and fell off her chair. Gasping for breath, she was helped back up by a concerned Daphne. "Oh, thanks for reminding me, Daph—well, once the Weasley Twins found out about it, they were pretty chill. They even said it's a brilliant piece of deception, using simple make-up and a simple Colour-Changing Charm to dress yourself up as someone else. It's amazing how much slides by people when you don't attract that much attention. And the gossip flying around the place when there aren't Slytherins visible? Oh, my, I could go on for _days_ about the juicy things I hear from people!"

Somehow, Cordelia thought she knew about where Daphne gets a lot of her information now.

"Would you believe that there's a betting pool in Gryffindor about when Percy Weasley is going to get the balls-"

"Tracey!" Daphne muttered disapprovingly, "Mind your language,"

"By your leave, Your Grace, the almighty Ice Princess of Slytherin," Tracey replied playfully in a mock deferential voice, "Your decree shall be done, but I must protest my innocence. After all, I am only speaking the truth,"

"Anyway, what was that about Percy Weasley?" Cordelia pressed, wondering what she had missed in her own house.

"Well, rumour has it that he has the hots for that Ravenclaw prefect he's dating. Penelope Clearwater, if I remember her name right. Really, really badly. There's a pool of nearly two hundred Sickles on him proposing to her before the end of the school year,"

Both of the other girls choked a little. "Excuse me?!" Daphne exclaimed, blushing a bright cherry red. "That is an exceptionally inappropriate thing to be gambling on!"

"I didn't say that I was betting on them, was I?" replied Tracey innocently, an impish smirk on her face. Daphne opened her mouth as if to say something, but simply huffed indignantly as she realised Tracey was right.

"Still...yeah...that's just gross," Cordelia muttered, trying to get that image out of her head. Sure, she had run into the two of them kissing in the Charms corridor before, but trying to picture Percy with a couple of little Ronalds running about caused her to shiver rather violently. "Yeah. No way, I'm not even going to think about that. Let's get on to other things, then. Like food. Isn't the snack trolley supposed to come around again about...now?"

"Are you seriously hungry again, Cordelia? Have you not just had five pumpkin pasties and a cauldron cake for breakfast?"

"They're not filling enough," the copper-haired girl pouted, causing Daphne to shake her head in disbelief.

"I still do not understand how you maintain a trim and lean figure while eating so much, Cordelia," Daphne said, "Merlin, I think that you likely eat more than myself and Tracey combined. Perhaps even more,"

When the snack trolley came about, however, even knowing about Cordelia's ravenous appetite couldn't prepare her for what she would see. She couldn't resist gawking at Cordelia after seven Galleons' worth of snacks were deposited right in front of them. Tracey looked at Cordelia, and then at the snacks – and then back at Cordelia, before sharing an incredulous look with Daphne.

"Cordelia," murmured Daphne apprehensively. Her eyes were fixed on the veritable mountain of pasties, chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans in front of them, "You do realise that there are only three of us, correct? I do think that you have bought enough to feed all of Slytherin on a feast day here,"

"Yeah, 'Delia. We won't finish all this by the time we get to Platform Nine and Three Quarters," added Tracey uncertainly.

"Want to bet?" Cordelia grinned. "Actually, Tracey, you can help me here. I didn't buy it all for myself, you know. Help yourselves,"

"Well, if you say so," replied Tracey. She took a cauldron cake and bit into it. "Awfully nice of you, Cordelia,"

Daphne at first crossed her arms, refusing to take a single one. By the time Cordelia had noticed, the red-haired girl had already devoured four pumpkin pasties and two cauldron cakes. "Daphne?" she said, after swallowing another sweet mouthful. "You can have them too, you know,"

"She's worried about getting fat," Tracey giggled, waggling an eyebrow when the girl in question gave her a look that promised a most painful death. "What? It's true, isn't it, Daph?"

"So much sugar is unhealthy," Daphne declared, turning up her nose. A loud rumble coming from her stomach betrayed her hunger, however, causing both Cordelia and Tracey to double over in silent laughter.

"Oh, come on. Here," said Cordelia. She picked up a pumpkin pasty and scooted over to Daphne's side. "Open wide!"

"Cordelia, I can feed myself, thank you very much," Daphne grumbled. She nevertheless took a bite from the offered pasty, though she took it from her friend's hands afterwards. "...I suppose a treat or two once a year will not be too disastrous for my health,"

* * *

The Hogwarts Express came to a halt at Platform Nine and Three Quarters a few hours later. There was a thick layer of snow on the platform itself, where parents and younger siblings of students waited to welcome them home for the holidays. All were wearing their warmest winter gear, likely boosted with Warming Charms; even in the Hogwarts Express, where the heaters were roaring in every compartment, every single student could feel the ever-present chill. Daphne watched the

"Daphne, you never told me you had Featherlight Charms on your trunk," Tracey said enviously as she lugged her trunk onto the platform. "Now I'm jealous. Those cost a fortune, and my dad said that we couldn't afford it!"

The Greengrass heiress caught her tongue just in time. _What Featherlight Charm,_ she thought to herself. Her trunk never had such a charm placed on it. A minor Extension Charm on the inside, yes, but never a Featherlight Charm. Even her father had dismissed it as a complete waste of money.

Yet when she looked to the side, she noticed that Cordelia was carrying her trunk – no, _both_ of their trunks. Seemingly without any effort, one dangling from each hand. She knew that Cordelia was strong – that much was evident whenever the red-headed girl nearly crushed her ribs every time she was pulled into a hug – but this was absurd. The trunks were fully loaded down with all their textbooks, a cauldron, clothes, boots and toiletries, as well as whatever else they decided was necessary. All told, her own one would have weighed nearly fifty pounds, and she was fairly certain that Cordelia's would be at least as heavy. Most of the weight did come from the textbooks, after all.

Tracey had been too focused on the trunks that she assumed were charmed to be nearly weightless. Had she looked up, she would have noticed that all colour had drained out of Cordelia's face. She would know that desperate look on Cordelia's face anywhere; her eyes pleaded for her to say nothing, to do nothing to draw attention to her. Well, that, or one could simply read the silent words that she was mouthing.

"Yes, a Featherlight Charm is wonderful, is it not?" Daphne replied, giving Tracey a false grin. If Cordelia wanted to keep something secret, then she would help as best she could. Assuming that she would learn what that secret was, of course.

"I'm so going to get dad to buy a trunk with it," Tracey muttered, "A Featherlight trunk...I'm soooo jealous..."

"Perhaps I could get you one for Christmas, Tracey,"

"No way. You're joking. Yep, I can see it. You're joking. You've got a smirk on your face. That's not a nice thing to joke about, Daph! You shouldn't get my hopes up like that if you didn't mean it," Tracey gasped, clutching at her chest exaggeratedly. "And you, Cordelia! I'm really jealous. It's the first time I've had a girl be able to out-eat me when there's sugary sweets around. And then I find that same girl also owns a Featherlight trunk. Life soooo isn't fair,"

"I'm sure we could get you one sometime, Tracey...maybe...eventually?" Cordelia replied uncertainly. "Wait, how much does one cost again?"

Daphne was certain that if the Gryffindor girl hadn't figured it out yet from Tracey's response, a Featherlight trunk was considered to be one of the most absurdly expensive things that one could have. And then she just had to run her mouth off again and just ruin the illusion of _owning_ a Featherlight trunk. Daphne had half a mind to throttle her at this point; if she needed to keep a secret, she needed to know _how_ to keep that secret. Which is to say, to not draw attention to anything that could reveal a bluff.

"Marry me," Tracey said dramatically, dropping to her knees and bowing to a bewildered Cordelia. Tracey even took up Cordelia's hands and kissed them; an act that caused an unpleasant knot to form in the pits of Daphne's stomach. "Your generosity outshines the sun! Are you _really_ going to get me a Featherlight trunk?"

"Cordelia," Daphne said slowly, "The cheapest Featherlight trunk that I am aware of costs nearly as much as a lesser ministry officer's annual salary. The last time I and my mother have browsed at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, the shop assistant offered to sell us one for _three thousand Galleons_ ,"

"Oh," said Cordelia. "Oh. Okay, then...uh...sorry, Tracey, I don't have that much gold on me,"

"Daphne!" pouted Tracey, "You just had to ruin it,"

Daphne smirked as she walked up to Tracey and helped her up. "Yes. Yes I did, Tracey," she replied, "Now, I think I see your mother and father coming through the ticket barrier. Would you be so kind as to give them my apologies? I cannot come to your Yuletide feast, as my father has planned one of his own,"

"Aww. I was hoping to see you there. Oh well, there's always next year, right?" she said brightly. "Well, I guess I'd better go. I shouldn't keep mum and dad waiting. Bye, you two! And an early Yule for you both!"

Cordelia watched the girl walk off, a goofy smile plastered on her face. "Well, I thought that all Slytherins were deadly serious all the time, like they had a Spiky Bush always stowed in their underwear. Tracey's really different. Is she always that happy, Daph?"

"Most of the time, yes. But you should not mistake that for carelessness. She is quite devious, in her own way," Daphne smirked, "And if you must know, I do _not_ have a Spiky Bush stowed in my underclothes, Cordelia,"

Cordelia blinked twice before she paled again, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Me and my big mouth," she moaned, "Sorry, Daphne, I didn't mean-"

"Yes, yes, I am very well aware that you did not mean any harm. Still, the thought of a certain Malfoy with one in his pants is...amusing,"

The sheer absurdity of the image caused Cordelia to burst into raucous laughter, drawing confused glances from nearby students and parents. "Yes, yes, I know that the thought of causing Malfoy grief is very amusing. If you should ever decide to follow through with it, I suppose I could ask Tracey to help,"

"Oh, I might just have to take you up on that," Cordelia replied. There was a fiery glint in her eyes that promised much pain. Daphne supposed that she could not fault her for it; it was well known, after all, just how much grief the young Malfoy caused to other students across all of the other houses. Doubly so if one happened to be a Gryffindor or a Muggleborn, and as far as the blond ferret was concerned, Cordelia was both.

Little did he know that was only true for one of them.

"In any event, I do believe our parents are here," said Daphne, tilting her head towards the Apparition point. "We should not keep them waiting,"

A short Side-along Apparition later, and Cordelia found herself in a wondrously opulent manor. They had Apparated to a marble pavilion in the middle of a sprawling garden. Neatly trimmed hedges lined the cobblestone paths that wound around grassy knolls, which were covered in elegant purple flowers with silvery leaves that flourished even in the snow. Trees with silver bark played host to what looked like fairies that danced merrily in the gentle wind, scattering golden dust from their shining wings. On the largest hill in the centre of the garden sat an elegant mansion; nowhere near as large as Avalon Castle, but definitely far more beautiful with its whitewashed walls, golden roof and numerous statues perched in all the right places. Doubly so with just the smallest dusting of powdery white snow on everything.

There were also various greenhouses also scattered about the grounds; most were framed with black iron, though some she noticed were painted with the most luminous red that she had ever seen. Looking beyond the mansion, however, she could not help but gasp in surprise. Daphne had mentioned that her family supplied most of the potion ingredients in Britain, but nothing could have prepared her for the acres and acres of greenhouses that lay beyond the mansion itself. Each looked as though they could hold six of Hogwarts' Great Hall, and she couldn't even count how many there were.

"Welcome to The Meadows, Lord Eire, Lady Eire, Heiress Eire," said Daphne formally, dipping into a curtsy. "My father, Lord Greengrass, welcomes you to our home,"

"Thank you for your hospitality, Maurice," Amanda said smoothly, giving a small nod in response to Daphne. Phineas responded in much the same way, though he did not say anything. "If I could say, your home looks incredible, even in winter. I cannot imagine how much work must have gone into tending these gardens to make it so,"

"Thank you for your kind words, Amanda," spoke Maurice with a smile, "We do have many house-elves, as you well know, and that is how we can maintain our lands. But let us not wait outside, in the cold. I believe a warm fire and some tea would be rather welcome by all,"

Amanda and Maurice then took the lead, walking at the front of their group with Victoria and Phineas trailing behind them. Cordelia thought to lift up their trunks to carry them back to their mansion, but the Greengrass house-elves were quicker. With a loud _pop_ , two house-elves appeared, each one with a hand on one trunk. Seeing Cordelia's hand nearing a trunk, their bat-like ears drooped in horror.

"Missy Dee shouldn't do this. This be Milly's job!" squeaked one of the elves. "We's taking Missy Dee's trunk to her room,"

"And Tilly's glad to see Miss Daphy back home. Tilly has Miss Daphy's tea done in her room. Two drops of honey, and a vanilla bean, just as Miss Daphy likes it!"

"Thank you, Tilly. Please give the other elves my thanks,"

"Miss Daphy is too kind!" the female house-elf - Milly - squeaked excitedly. With another _pop_ , the two of them vanished along with the trunks.

"Daphne," whispered Cordelia to the blonde, who raised a perfectly-trimmed eyebrow questioningly. "What do they mean by 'my room'? Your parents didn't organise a room just for me, did they...?"

"What an absurd question. Of course they did, Cordelia," replied Daphne, somewhat affronted. "It would be a terrible insult to provide less than one room per guest. Especially for a Most Ancient and Noble House hosting guests from another,"

"They didn't really have to. I mean, I normally just share a room with my mum every time we go anywhere," Cordelia answered quickly, looking rather guilty. "I hope your parents didn't go through too much trouble,"

"No, it was no trouble at all," Maurice interjected. Apparently he had been listening to what they were saying, or at least had worked it out. "The Greengrass Estate always has bedrooms to spare. Our family is not as large as it used to be, given the...unpleasant events of the past,"

Daphne bowed her head when her father fell silent with a sombre look on his face.

"However," Victoria Greengrass said, a strained smile on her face, "Let us not speak of something that truly belongs in the past. As my husband has said, the Greengrass Estate always has bedrooms to spare. Our house-elves keep our mansion clean and ready for guests all the time, even when we are not expecting any guests,"

"I see," Amanda said, nodding in understanding. "The two creatures that had taken away the trunks – could I assume that those were House-elves?"

"Indeed they are. Milly and Tilly are two of our six elves," replied Maurice, "But it is getting rather cold out here. Let us find a warm fireplace first, and then continue our talk,"

The Greengrass Estate – or The Meadows, as it was known informally – was as beautiful inside as it was outside. Two grand, sweeping staircases surrounded the circular entry foyer; an enormous crystal chandelier was suspended from its ceiling by gold chains, burning with white magical light from within. Flawless white marble tiles, sparkling and spotless, stretched on into corridors with countless doors. And behind an open pair of double doors, Cordelia could see a massive dining hall. While not nearly as large as that in Avalon or in Hogwarts, it made up for its lack of size with sheer opulence. The table was spread with pure white silk, and the chairs looked as though they had been made from thick red fox-fur framed with silver.

"Wow. I...I don't have any words," Cordelia gasped, taking in the estate with all her senses. Even the air smelled of lemons and vanilla. She walked timidly toward the centre of the room, wondering if she could even fit in such a luxurious home. "This is...really beautiful,"

"Thank you for your kind observations, Cordelia," Victoria said with a smile. "Daphne, dear, could you show Cordelia to her bedroom? And perhaps introduce your little sister to her, as well. Also, I doubt either of you would want to listen to the boring things that we adults must discuss with each other over tea. I shall send Milly up with some chocolate croissants and chrysanthemum tea to your room later,"

It took a lot for Cordelia to not gawk stupidly at everything around her. Daphne's family was _rich_. There was no questioning it. Was this the sort of power and wealth a proper Most Ancient and Noble House wielded? House-elves to pick up after them and serve their every whim, gold enough to never want for anything, dressed like the lords and ladies that she had read about in Muggle storybooks.

A little fear and apprehension crept into her heart. Daphne was so refined and so elegant in her mannerisms, and so were her parents. No doubt her sister would be much like her. Avalon, compared to the grand estate that was the Greengrass Estate, may as well be a ruined hovel of rotting wood and crumbling stone. There was no gold or silver to be seen; only threadbare carpets and dusty chandeliers of rusting iron. The town that lay beyond its outer walls lay empty and desolate, its fields overgrown with weeds and its orchards gnarled and withered.

Was that also expected of her and her mother? Was this what a proper Wizarding estate needed to be? Was this the sort of task that Maeve had placed on her mother? If it was, Merlin help them both. It certainly seemed impossible to Cordelia.

* * *

A/N:

Right. So this took a while, as I've been having thoughts about the direction that this story is going, with respect to the initial premise. And I found that I was indeed drifting far from the initial mark. Tossing up between rewriting entire chapters, deleting entire chapters and cutting it back to the original plot, I decided that perhaps it was better to let it grow from where it's already grown. The initial premise has been expanded, and the story renamed to match. Thank you FuryouMiko for giving me the final kick up the backside to stop sitting on the fence and just get it done.

Also, some chapters have been adjusted to account for discontinuities with regards to characterisation. While the Greengrasses are somewhat pro-pureblood, I'll make it quite clear in the following chapters that their pro-pureblood views are tempered by straight pragmatism when it comes to profit and keeping their House alive. Meaning that if there was great enough profit or benefit, they will overlook blood status temporarily, if not permanently. Whether Amanda's ambition of employing vast amounts of Muggleborns to modernise the Wizarding World will sit well with the more traditionalist Greengrasses remains to be seen.


End file.
